Black Satin Voices
by Eurydice11
Summary: When Willow is kidnapped by strangers with a mysterious agenda, Buffy is forced to chase after them to New Orleans, with a reluctant Spike along for the ride. Set S4-5, BS. COMPLETE - Epilogue 1 added.
1. Once Upon a Summertime

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.  And the chapter titles are courtesy of Miles Davis.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Well, no real previously since this is the first chapter, but a brief explanation perhaps.  Set the summer between seasons 4 and 5, there is no Dawn and I'm breaking Buffy and Riley up before the story starts, so no Riley either.  Oh, and I've decided to ignore the fact that Tara ever thought she'd become a demon on her next birthday.

SUMMARY:  When Willow is kidnapped by strangers with a mysterious agenda, Buffy is forced to chase after them to New Orleans, with a reluctant Spike along for the ride. 

*************

She was in rare form.  A flurry of golden hair and tanned skin against the night sky, she seemed possessed of a fury incarnate as she thrust the stake through the chest of her seventh vamp that night, her quip lost to him as it floated away on the breeze.  He wasn't really following her; it wasn't Spike's fault that Buffy had picked tonight to patrol his cemetery, or that she was moving from demon to demon with a feral determination, like a lioness on the prowl.  

Better not use that analogy in front of her, he thought, blue eyes glittering in the moonlight as he dropped silently from the mausoleum roof, keeping an eye on the Slayer in the distance as she turned and began marching down a different path.  Don't think she'd appreciate the compliment in it.  

Not that he was in the habit of passing around compliments to someone who hated his guts, but he certainly could appreciate the beauty she brought to her fighting.

And not that he in any way was associating beauty with the Slayer.

Or thinking about the Slayer in terms other than being a huge thorn in his side he'd like nothing more than to pluck.

Not that he was considering plucking her in any way.

Sod it.

He was getting off this train of thought before it derailed and effectively cut off what balls he had left.

Even in the dim evening illumination, her skin was glistening, a sheen of sweat from the oppressive heat making her radiant, its musky scent somewhat lost to him as the slight wind blew from behind him.  Although it was hardly June, the summer was promising to be a scorcher for Sunnydale; Buffy had arrived at the cemetery already gleaming from perspiration, hazel eyes bright as she sought out her prey.  Each fight only heightened the stickiness of her skin, and Spike felt a sympathetic tattoo of her heartbeat against his flesh as it began to ease from her latest battle, her senses still alert but her body quieting in anticipation of the next.  This was as close as he would get to the human kill, he knew, but something else lay within its power, an intoxicating elixir that called to him to follow, to watch, to…

Shit.  

To not pay attention to where he was bloody going.

The stick snapped beneath his boot, crackling through the night air, freezing his muscles in mid-step as he watched the Slayer stop, golden head slowly turning to look behind her, her grip tightening around her stake.  He waited, hovering behind the bush in the arc of the path that separated them, and was grateful he didn't need to breathe.  The Slayer got cranky when she ran into him on patrol; he wasn't really in the mood to deal with her attitude at the moment.

"I know it's you, Spike," she said, and there was no mistaking the annoyance in her voice.  

So much for stealthy.

"You do realize your head actually glows from all the bleach on it, don't you?" Buffy commented as she waited for him to emerge.

Stepping around the trail, Spike adopted his favorite smirk as he came into her view, letting his blue gaze travel over the shorts and tank top that made up her patrolling outfit.  Muscles and soft curves shown off to perfection, and this time, he couldn't ignore the tightening of his jeans across his hips.  Thrusting his hands into his duster pockets, the vampire nonchalantly pulled it shut in front of him, blocking his erection from her sight.  No reason to let her know what she did to him.  He had a hard enough time admitting it to himself.

"Lookin' for a good slay?" he drawled, striving for casual.  "Surprised Rupert let you out in that little ensemble.  Though, must say…"  His eyes raked over her, lingering pointedly on her hips, the tip of his tongue skating along the edge of his teeth.  "…you do make for tasty bait.  Very Daisy Duke.  I'm sure there's a vamp or two around here who's just dying to get a bite out of you dressed like that."

Folding her arms across her chest, Buffy gazed at him in irritation. "It's hot, in case you haven't noticed."

"Actually, I hadn't."

She exhaled loudly, blowing at the loose strands that clung to her forehead in an attempt to clear her vision.  "Stupid vamps and no body heat," she grumbled, and turned on her heel, taking three sharp steps before realizing that he was ambling after her.  She stopped.  "What do you think you're doing?" she demanded.

"You're lookin' a little peaked, pet," he said, stopping at her side.  "Thought I might give you a hand in chasin' after your nasties.  That's what we do, right?  Fight the good fight, make with the mass destruction of all things evil---."

She shook her head.  "You're just in this for the blood and violence, Spike.  Don't think you're fooling anybody here."

"What does that matter if they still end up dead?"

Buffy's sigh was one of frustration.  He was never going to get it, but then again, vampire there.  She could hardly expect him to understand the whole doing it because it's the right thing idea.  It's just that, occasionally, she forgot about that when he was around.  "Go away.  I don't need a hand.  I've got two perfectly good ones of my own here."

As tempting as the opportunity was to make a comment regarding what she could do with those powerful little hands of hers, Spike chose instead to pretend to look around the graveyard.  "You got Soldier Boy stashed someplace around here as your back-up?" he asked, already knowing the answer to that question.  Buffy had arrived alone, no sign of that annoying boyfriend of hers anywhere in sight.

He was surprised to see the sudden shine in the hazel depths before she whipped her head around, renewing her march down the path and away from him.  "Don't start with me, Spike," she warned.  "I'm not in the mood."

"Didn't realize I was," he replied, and ignored the threat in her voice to trail after her.  "So, fess up.  Finn throw a wobbler 'cause you made him stay home and wash your dainties?  Because if he's complainin', I know a few blokes who'd be more than happy to get their hands on the Slayer's knickers---."

Her fist came out of nowhere, connecting with his nose to send him flying back, and Spike looked up just in time to see Buffy wipe furiously at the tear that had escaped her eye, pivoting on her heel to tramp as loudly away from him as she could.  He frowned.  Pissed off, he expected.  Crying, he did not.

Leaping to his feet, his hand had circled her bicep before he could stop himself, forcing her to halt and turn to look at him.  "What's wrong?" he asked, and immediately regretted the question.  Though this wasn't the Slayer he knew, his query had been prompted from some strange desire to find out what could drive her to this, a sudden anger rising in his gullet to destroy whatever had caused it.  Just as quickly, he squelched the impulse, ignoring its implication as he loosened his grip on her arm.

She looked at him for a long moment, swallowing and staring, the muscles in her jaw twitching as she struggled to keep her composure.  "Not that it makes any difference," she finally said, her voice tight.  "But Riley's not even _in_ Sunnydale right now, so stop…just stop."  Stepping back, Buffy waited, not moving, watching the vampire before her, silently willing him to go and leave her in peace.

He didn't know why he asked; doing so was almost a certain invitation for her to hit him again.  "You two have a blow-out?"

There was something in his tone, a softened shade masking a concern she was sure she was mis-reading, but Buffy found herself unable to stir, staring at the blond vamp as the events of the past few days played over in her head.  "Out, up, all over the place," she finally admitted.  "Something about…"  She rolled her eyes.  "…my inability to commit to our relationship.  He took off for Iowa today.  I guess corn's more interesting in me, so, not really in the mood for our usual quid pro quo here, Spike."

"What the hell are you doin' prowling around a cemetery then for?" he asked, heavy brows creased into a frown.  "If I were you, I'd be out on the town, gettin' blinding drunk, tryin' to suss out a way to get back at the wanker."

She couldn't help the quirk of the corner of her mouth.  "You _did do that, remember?"_

"Oh.  Yeah."  If he'd had circulation, he would've flushed at the memory of his embarrassing behavior when Dru had dumped him the first time.  "Still, Red should've at least---."

"She offered.  I turned her down."

His brow lifted.  "Since when does patrolling rate higher than hen night?"

Buffy shrugged and resumed walking again.  "Since they arrest you if you start beating up the clientele," she replied.  "I'm not in the most sociable of moods right now, especially where the opposite sex is concerned.  Not sure I can deal with the flirting and small talk without major combustion."

He fell into step beside her.  "That's half the fun, pet."

"Maybe for you."

"And you're sure doin' with the fisticuffs is better therapy?"

"For this girl, most definitely."  

They walked in silence for a moment, the edge of his duster brushing against her leg with every step.  The scent of her skin was much stronger so close, tangy to the point of prickling his tongue in moisture, and Spike had to struggle to keep the growl of his demon under control.  This had been happening more and more as of late, this visceral response to her presence.  Not the Slayer part, although that certainly was a big part of it.  It was the answer of his own body to hers, a tug from someplace inside that he didn't want to recognize and quite often ignored, because considering the ramifications of anything further only made him feel like tearing someone to shreds.  Which was actually why he ended up going out on his own patrols so often.  Nothing like a spot of violence to work through those unwanted instincts.

"Would've thought you'd bagged your limit," he finally commented.  "Not like seven's not a lucky number or anything."

Immediately, Buffy stopped, a frown on her face.  "How do you know how many vamps I dusted?"

Bloody hell.  Should've just kept his gob shut.

Her eyes widened.  "Have you been following me?"

"Not followin'!" Spike protested.  "You have any idea how much of a blather you make when you're on the hunt?  Kinda hard _not_ to know when you're around, Slayer, 'specially when you're in such a snit.  That last one took you soddin' forever to finish off."

The set of her mouth told him he'd lost whatever good will he might've garnered in their few seconds of camaraderie.  "Go home, Spike," she said grimly.  "Before I decide to make you number eight."

His nostrils flared as he watched her walk away.  "Well, not like you should be here anyway," he called after her retreating back.  "If I were Red, I'd be mighty brassed off for bein' stood up for a few stiffs!"  As she disappeared around a bend in the path, not even bothering to look back, Spike grimaced, kicking roughly at a crumbling headstone nearby, disrupting a shower of stone and dust that settled like a fine mist on his boot.  What was it about her that always made him turn into the village idiot? he wondered, rolling his eyes as he replayed his last few words in his head.  He always seemed to come up with the better comebacks when she wasn't around.  It was certain that the perfect wisecrack would come to him as soon as she was out of earshot; he just wished he could time them to show up when she was still in his presence.  Show the silly bint she wasn't all that, that she didn't get under his skin like molten lava rolling down his spine, enflaming his flesh in remembered heat, making him…

Bugger.

Bitch.  How the hell did she do it?

*************

The Bronze was packed, bodies pressed against each other on the dance floor, the air conditioning in overdrive to combat the heat rising from the gyrating flesh.  At their table, Tara and Willow sipped at their drinks, condensation dripping down the sides of the tall glasses, as they watched the band onstage finish up their last number.

"I still wish Buffy had come with," the redhead complained as the music faded away.  "She needs something to distract her from the muddle going through her head about Riley."

"She could still show up," Tara said.  "After she's done patrolling?"

Willow shook her head.  "Nah.  Something tells me she's in a staking sort of place right now, not a dancing sort of place."  Her mouth pursed around her straw as she remembered the closed-off look on her best friend's face after returning from Riley's.  Buffy hadn't wanted to talk about it, and not even the offer of chocolate-y goodness and cute boys clamoring to buy her drinks could elicit a smile from the Slayer before she'd disappeared into the night.

"Then we'll just have to have her fun for her," Tara said playfully, and reached down to squeeze her girlfriend's knee.

The redhead smiled, grateful for the diversion, and turned her gaze to the musicians filing onto the stage.  "Who's this?" she asked with a small frown, watching as they plugged in a keyboard and set up the microphone directly in the center.

"There was a sign up front that said there's a new act tonight.  Some singer.  I didn't recognize the name.  Stella something."

They waited in mute fascination as the musicians took their place, lanky young men almost draped over their instruments.  Only when they were settled did the lights go down, a single spotlight illuminating the space around the mic, and a tall black female stepped into the circle.  

She was a large woman---statuesque would've been the gentle term for it---with skin the color of milky coffee and black hair plaited down her back.  Thin fingers that belied her size wrapped around the stand, her long nails painted scarlet and tipped in silver, catching the light and sending it scattering across the faces of the people waiting for her to start.  She could've been twenty, she could've been forty; the truth was most likely something in between.  She just had one of those kind of faces that defied being labelled, flawless skin waiting in sobriety for the music behind her to start.

It began with a drumbeat, slow, steady, the bass rolling to fill the room, pounding against the occupants' flesh in a tonal reminder of more primal impulses.  Next, came the lazy caress from the keyboard, adding the melody line to create a song bathed in starlight, the call of innate vagaries lingering in its notes like a deep red wine.  By the time thirty seconds had passed, the crowd was breathless in anticipation of the voice that would join them.

It was huskier than they thought it would be, a throaty tribute to the vocal stylings of an Ella Fitzgerald or Billie Holliday.  Smoky, reeking of sex, yet breaking from the anguish of an unspoken pain.

Willow was transfixed, her breath coming in tiny pants as she watched the singer take command of her audience, leading them through the paths of her song with a crook of her finger.  Not the Bronze's usual fare, and yet, so, so much better.  Nobody was dancing.  Somehow, it would've seemed sacrilege to disrupt the performance with something as base as that.  But neither were they bored, lost in the woman's voice as she sang the tale of loss and betrayal.

As the last note trailed away, there was a moment of hesitation before the room erupted in applause, shrill whistles punctuating the air as the singer took a step back away from the microphone and smiled for the first time since taking the stage.  Willow's clapping was just as loud as the rest, but as she gazed in wondrous awe at the performer, she felt a flush flood over her skin as their eyes met…held…her heart pounding in her throat when she broke away from the trance to glance at her girlfriend out of the corner of her eye.  Oh goddess, she thought wildly.  That was just too…intense.

But Tara hadn't noticed, smiling and clapping along with the rest, and only turned away to smile at Willow when the singer returned to the mic.  "She's really good," the blonde commented.

Before the other girl could reply, however, a voice drifted in to fill the space between them.  "Actually, she's amazing," it interjected, the lazy twang of a Southern baritone catching both of their attention.

Their heads turned, two sets of eyes gazing curiously at the young man who stood behind them.  Tall, but on the thin side, with an open face that bordered on the bland.  Good-looking in a washed-out Ken kind of way, Willow thought, and affected her polite but not interested smile as she nodded in agreement.

He stuck his hand out as the second song started.  "I'm Freddie," he said.

Tara was the one who accepted his introduction, a welcoming smile creasing her friendly features as years of Southern breeding took hold and she responded in kind.  "You sound like you're from my neck of the woods," she said, doing her best not to stutter over the words.  "I'm Tara, by the way."

He turned expectantly toward the redhead, who inwardly sighed.  "Willow," she offered with a waggle of her fingers.  "Hi."

The words to the next number came then, following the upbeat tempo as the vocalist beckoned to the crowd to get up and dance.  Immediately, Willow was diverted, green gaze riveted back to the stage, the same physical response to this song as she'd had to the previous.  The world seemed to slip away around her, the presence of the stranger behind her disappearing, and she found herself immersed in ethereal arms, pulling and tugging and holding her close as she became sucked into the music.

Her clapping was even more rigorous with the second song's conclusion, growing in enthusiasm with each passing performance, and she was oblivious to the continued conversation that was happening between her girlfriend and the young man who was now sitting at their table.  For some inexplicable reason, something about the singer called to her, a sense of familiarity, of sisterhood, springing from her gut that hadn't happened since she'd first met Tara, and though it was in no way a sexual attraction, there _was_ something there, just…indefinable.

The hollowness in her stomach when the set finished caused Willow to swallow compulsively, shocked at how strung out she felt.  It was just music, she thought as she turned in a daze back to her half-finished drink, sipping at it cautiously as she prayed that it would fill the growing fissure inside her.  This didn't even happen when Oz played.  Who would've thunk it?

"You know, Stel's a friend of mine."  It was the first thing he'd addressed directly to her since he'd sat down, and the redhead turned to look at the young man---Freddie, he'd said his name was---smiling at her.  He nodded toward the emptying stage in clarification.  "The singer."

"You know her?"  God, redundant much, she scolded herself.  He's going to tell her you're a big ol' goof.

"Sure, we go back a long way," he said.  "When she got this gig, I asked if she minded if I tagged along.  I've never been to California before.  Had this whole mess of touristy stuff I wanted to do.  'Course, I didn't realize you weren't exactly on Disney's back door."  He grinned.  "So much for taking a gander at Mickey while I'm here."

"They're from New Orleans," Tara offered in explanation.

Willow brightened.  "Ooo, land of Mardi Gras.  I've always wanted to go there.  The music, the costumes.  All that history and lore."  She blushed at his raised eyebrow.  "I'm kind of lore girl around here," she added and rushed to change the subject.  "How did you end up all the way out in Sunnydale?  I would've thought we were pretty backwater compared to the streets of New Orleans."

"Stella knows people.  A _lot of people.  And when she decided she wanted a break from the humidity back home, she just asked around 'til something popped up."_

"Well, I'm glad the Bronze snapped and crackled for her, because I've gotta tell you…"  The redhead leaned forward to make herself heard as the next band started playing up onstage.  "She's got the most wonderful voice."  She held up her bare arm.  "I even got goosebumpy."

"You want to meet her?"

Her green eyes went wide.  "Could I?"

Freddie shrugged.  "Sure.  Stel loves meeting the fans.  C'mon."  He hopped up from his stool and waited as Willow clambered down to circle around to his side.  "You want to come, too, Tara?" he asked.

She shook her head.  "You guys go on ahead.  I'll order us some more drinks."

Willow leaned in and brushed a kiss across her girlfriend's cheek.  "Be right back."

*************

It hadn't really worked.  Patrolling was supposed to clear her head, not fill it with even more doubts, and questions, and worries that maybe the things Riley had said had been right.  The only thing that was better was that the anger she'd been feeling since he'd left had pretty much gone, to be replaced with a strange sense of sadness.  Not loss, which was actually the weirdest part because that's what she'd been expecting.  To feel more upset about not having him around anymore.  No, the sorrow that hung in her heart rested in the fact that, yet again, Buffy had failed at a relationship because she couldn't give her partner what he needed.  Bad Buffy.

What did that say about her? she thought as she pulled her room key from her shoe.  Angel had left because what they had had couldn't really go any further without him going all bumpy and dangerous again.  Parker hadn't even been interested long enough to make what they had last longer than one night.  At least Riley had stuck around a little bit longer, but once the last of his ties with the Initiative had been severed and he'd focused more on them and their relationship, the more he'd claimed to realize how she wasn't really there for him, that he was giving one hundred and ten percent to making them work by being there for all the practices, and she was just showing up for the games.  

Stupid basketball analogy, Buffy grumped as she stepped into the darkened room.  Like I even _like the dumb game.  A quick glance at Willow's bed showed that her roommate was still not back from her night out with Tara---or is spending the night over there again, she added with just a hint of jealousy about the solid relationship the two lesbians seemed to share---so she flicked on the light switch, bathing the room in yellow as she kicked the door shut behind her.  Gonna have to remember to ask Will how she does it, the blonde decided as she peeled her sweat-damp clothes from her skin.  How does she keep finding the magic?  For that matter, how does she give herself so easily?_

*************

"So you enjoyed the show?"  She was watching her in the dressing room mirror as she wiped the sweat from her brow, dark eyes friendly, the slightest of smiles haunting her brown face as her gaze studied the young witch hovering in the doorway.

Willow's grin broadened.  "Oh, yeah," she enthused.  "_Totally enjoyed.  Your music, it's not the Bronze's usual rock-em-sock-em kind of thing, but _soooo_ good.  Different.  But good different, not weird different.  Very primal.  Of course, that's probably because of all the drums in it, but then, most music uses drums so maybe not.  And I'm babbling now, so I'll just shut up and stand here in unbelievable respect for your talent."  There was a moment before she added, "I'm excitable, not crazy, just so you know."_

Stella laughed, a deep chuckle that filled the small room.  "Just shows you have good taste."  Her accent wasn't as strong as Freddie's, mellow in its gentle cadences, calling to mind hot summer breezes and ice-cold lemonade.  "It speaks to you because you're an old soul.  You understand about power.  About sources that go deeper than most men's understanding."

The smile on Willow's face froze.  Kind of a curious statement, she thought.  Well, not if you're a Scooby because we deal in those kind of platitudes all the time, but coming from an outsider?  "Oh, I dunno," she hedged.  "I think I just like the music.  It's got a good beat.  You can dance to it."

This time her laughter bounced off the walls.  "Oh, honey, you don't have to play the innocent act with me.  We _bathe_ in magic in New Orleans.  There ain't anything you can say or do that'll shock me."  She turned around and stepped closer to the young woman, towering over her as a long hand reached up to brush back a loose strand of red hair from her cheek.  "On the other hand," Stella said, "I think I might be able to offer you a surprise or two."

Willow's eyes went wide.  Oh goodness, she thought wildly.  She's coming on to me!  What to do, what to do...and where the hell had Freddie gone?  "I have a girlfriend," she blurted, stepping back and stumbling against the door jamb, using it to steady herself as the singer edged away.

"Good for you," she murmured.  "Although, kind of a shame, really…"

"Why's that?"

Before Stella could reply, the drug-soaked cloth was clamped over Willow's face, Freddie's arm holding her tight against him as the young witch clawed at the fabric, kicking at the unseen assailant behind her in a futile attempt to break free, only to finally succumb and slump into unconsciousness.

"Because I do believe she'll miss you," Stella crooned to the sleeping young woman as she watched Freddie scoop the redhead into his arms and carry her out into the hall, down the corridor, leading out to the van they had waiting.

To be continued in Chapter 2: Bye Bye Blackbird…


	2. Bye Bye Blackbird

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.  And the chapter titles are courtesy of Miles Davis.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Recently breaking up with Riley, Buffy turned down Willow and Tara's invitation for a night out to patrol, where she ran into Spike.  Meanwhile, at the Bronze, a new singer has captured Willow's attention, but when she is given the opportunity to meet her, the young redhead is drugged and knocked out…

*************

Bloody bitch thinks she's God's soddin' gift to slaying, Spike grumbled as he tramped down the sidewalk, his boots heavy against the concrete, the smoke from the cigarette dangling from his mouth a filmy cloud trailing after him.  His hands were balled into fists deep in his pockets, the duster swirling in righteous anger around his legs, cutting a dangerous swathe through the people that darted out of the vampire's way as he marched toward the club.  It was probably a good thing that others on the walk were jumping of their own volition out of his path; in his current agitation, there was no doubt that Spike would forget the effects of the chip and shove aside any unsuspecting interloper who might get in his way.  Then, he'd just have another headache he could effectively blame on the Slayer.

He'd ignored her warning and watched her from afar as she dusted another two vamps before calling it a night, heading back to the campus lost in a world of her own.  Research, he'd reasoned, ignoring the call of his flesh or the tiny voice in the back of his head that argued otherwise.  Studying her moves so that the day I stop havin' to play nice-nice 'cause of this hardware in my skull I can get her out of my life, once and for all.  The memory of Harmony's laughter came floating back, those endless taunts about how he was never going to get the Slayer and why didn't he just get over it stuck on repeat inside his brain, and his nostrils flared as he ripped the cigarette from his lips and tossed it into the gutter.  I'll show her, he menaced.  I'll show her good.

Except he wouldn't, and he knew it.  When it came to Buffy, there was always something---that little niggle that pulled his punches from being completely deadly, the small voice which whispered complete dross about what a waste it would be if the Slayer wasn't around---that successfully stopped him.  Which was why he was on his way to the Bronze to get as shit-faced drunk as the roll of dosh he'd nicked from the last vamp he'd staked would let him.

Spike snarled in frustration when the black van pulled out of the alley by the club, its tires squealing as it skidded into the street, heedless of the pedestrians that might bar its way.  "Watch it!" he yelled, flipping the unseen driver off with a two-fingered salute, and rumbled deep in his throat as the vehicle accelerated down the road.  A quick glance at the bumper revealed the Louisiana plates gleaming dully in the light of the streetlamps, and the vampire shook his head in disgust.  "Damn out-of-towners," he muttered, and turned back, ready to head into the club.

It was the scent that stopped him, halting his body after only one step, his head lifting and swiveling sideways in the same arc that the runaway van had just taken.  Blue eyes narrowed as he stared at it, watching it disappear around the corner, at the same time inhaling deeply in an attempt to clarify the smell.  No, he decided.  Make that smell_s.  Very much the plural._

The first was unknown, somehow familiar but maddeningly elusive to his identification.  Medicinal, maybe.  Almost sweet.  It was the second, however, that gave him true pause.

Would swear that was _Red_, Spike thought.  Another sweep of his head gave him the confirmation he'd been seeking, and the vampire frowned into the distance, his body involuntarily taking a step in the direction the car had gone.  

But Red doesn't drive.  

Or own a van.  

Unless Harris has finally bought himself a vehicle.  That would at least explain why the barmy driver had tried to run him over.  Leave it to the boy to try and put him back into the wheelchair when he couldn't very well fend for himself too much these days.

With a sharp shake of his head as if to clear it, Spike turned back, resuming his path to the Bronze.  Got the Slayer and her mates too much on the brain, he grumbled.  Red probably just walked this way to get into the club, and I'm readin' things that aren't really there.  

She's not.  In.  The van.  It wasn't even local, so just…let it go.  

He shoved the thoughts away, stepping on the tiny fingers of worry that were creeping around his defenses that it really _had been the red-haired witch---__don't care, won't fuss, he silently asserted---and focused on his immediate goal.  Alcohol.  Lots of it.  Anything to wipe the images of sweaty Slayer arms and legs that had been plaguing his head ever since he'd seen her step foot into his cemetery._

And maybe pick up some girl for a quick shag.

For some reason, he was horny as hell.

*************

The smell was intoxicating.  All sweat, and copper, and hints of brimstone, with a salty undertaste that made his mouth water.  Smells that prickled at his palate with enough intensity to draw forth an unconscious growl from deep within his throat.  Enough to make him pause just inside the doorway.  Enough to make him hard as a rock and inexplicably wishing the Slayer was around.

Should've eaten first, Spike realized, as his blue gaze swept over the packed club.  Humans, humans, everywhere, and not a drop to drink.  The ultimate in Chinese water torture to be doin' this to myself.  Still…sharing in the heat that emanated from the twisting bodies on the dance floor reminded him of his earlier walk with Buffy, those few moments when they'd been…well, maybe not at peace, but certainly a momentary truce…before he'd gone and buggered the thing up by letting her know he'd been watching her fight.  Maybe I _should've_ made a comment about how good she looked, he thought suddenly.  Maybe it might've taken the sting out of me comin' across all stalker-like.

Except he wasn't supposed to even be thinking about the Slayer since that was his whole intention in coming to the Bronze, anyway.  Right.  Look over the crowd.  Pick someone out.  Someone who's _not the Slayer.  Someone interestin'.  Someone…_

He didn't mean to stop looking when he saw her head bowed over her drink.  Long strands of dark blonde hung across her cheek, slightly hollowed as she sipped at the last of the fluid in the tall glass in front of her.  Four other glasses were on the table, two empty, two full, and as he watched, Spike saw her look up, her wide gaze turning to the door that led backstage, his own following as if drawn by magnets.

Now what's bothering Red's little girlfriend? the vamp wondered, blue eyes sliding back to see her look at her watch, fidget on her stool.  She was uncomfortable, and if he concentrated, Spike could pick out the raised tenor of her heartbeat, his familiarity with the Scoobies---even this most recent inductee---working to his advantage for a change.  For that matter, he added, where the hell is Red?  Girls' night out usually means more than one girl.

He didn't even stop to consider that maybe his assessment outside could've been correct.  Unbidden, his feet led him through the crowd, easing himself past the tight bodies, nostrils flaring as the scent of a woman's arousal as he brushed against her at the edge of the dance floor hit his senses.  It didn't make him stop, though, and before he knew it, Spike was standing at Tara's side, just on the rim of her peripheral vision, head tilted as he waited for her to notice him.

It wasn't until she looked up again at the door Willow had recently gone through with Freddie that the blonde witch saw him there, and stiffened in her seat, shoulders straightening.  "H-h-hi there, Spike," she managed, and silently chastised herself for letting her stutter get the better of her in front of the vampire.  Not that she had much control over it when she was nervous, but he didn't need any more encouragement in knowing that he still managed to scare her, in spite of his chipped status.

"Even I don't get that thirsty," he said, nodding toward the other glasses on the table.  Though he would never have admitted it to anyone, there was something about this one that he responded to, that reminded him of Dru in those rare moments of nostalgia he allowed himself these days.  That soft, vulnerable exterior housing a core of steel.  She hadn't shown it yet, but Spike didn't doubt that this one would show her true colors for the Slayer some time in the future.  Become another ally in their constant fight.  He actually hoped he'd be around to witness it.

"They're not mine," Tara said.  "They're Willow's and Freddie's."

His blond head swiveled, looking around the club.  "Where is Red?  If I were her, I wouldn't leave a tasty morsel like you around without some proper supervision."

She blushed, ducking her eyes.  OK, evil, yes, but Spike had a way about him that made a girl think she was the only one in the room.  That she was special.  Probably a vampire thing, she thought, dismissing it quickly as she self-consciously tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.  Maybe that's why Buffy's always talking about him.  Maybe that's something she's noticed, too.  Hadn't Willow said that Buffy's first serious boyfriend had been a vampire, too?  She seemed to have an affinity for them, outside of the whole slaying them thing, of course.

"She went out b-b-back," she explained.  "To meet the singer who just performed."  Another glance at her wristwatch.  "Except she's been back there an awful long time."

"So go get her."

Her eyes went wide.  "Oh, I couldn't do that," Tara protested.  "She'd think I didn't trust her."

He tilted his head.  "Listen, pet.  One thing you're goin' to have to learn about this place.  You're on the Hellmouth now.  It's not about trust.  It's about keepin' your skin intact, minus those pesky little neck wounds that seem to strike when you least expect it."  Spike watched as she fidgeted again in her seat.  Her worry was seeping from her skin, and a flash about the van out on the street pushed him closer to the table.  The proposal was out of his mouth before he could stop it.  "Look, if it bothers you to go back there alone," he said, "I'll go with you.  Make sure there aren't any nasties lurking about."  He smiled broadly.  "Other than me, of course."

Her wide eyes were steady on his for a long moment, assessing the offer.  He can't hurt you, she reminded herself.   Willow's not even afraid of him any more.   And though she didn't understand what his motivation would be to help her, Spike had a point.  It had been foolish for Willow to go someplace with a relative stranger.

She slid off her chair.  "It's probably nothing," Tara said.  "But you're right.  Better to be s-s-safe than sorry."

As he followed her to the back of the club, Spike found himself wondering why exactly he was doing this.  Not like the Slayer's even around to see, he noted, and then grimaced as he realized that, yet again, he was letting thoughts of the petite blonde invade what should've been a nice night out for him.  She's got nothin' to do with this, he silently affirmed.  Of all the Scoobies, the two witches were the ones he liked the most; if he was going to insist on defining this moment of insanity, he'd just chalk it up to not wanting to see them at the wrong end of the evil stick.  That's all.  Nothing whatsoever to do with Buffy.

And as he stepped through the door, for a split second, he actually believed it.

*************

The hallway was deserted, and Spike felt the blonde witch's disappointment float back to him as she hesitated at its mouth, her eyes flicking over the various doors that lined the dim corridor.  "Where's that singer?" he prompted.  "You said Red was comin' back to play fan, right?"

"Right."  Her voice was faint, her step hesitant as she began moving down the hall.  At each door, she stopped, glancing inside before moving on.  She was ignoring the closed ones for now; Tara didn't do well in approaching strangers that way, so if she could avoid having to knock and bother someone she didn't know, she would.

She got lucky.  At the third opening, he heard her breath hitch in her chest, her pulse suddenly race as she gazed at whoever was inside the room.  Sliding himself over, Spike saw the tall black woman slipping a purse strap over her shoulder, her back to the people in the doorway.  Not bad, he thought, blue eyes appraising her ample form.  Definitely very African Queen.

"Excuse me."  Tara's voice came out as a squeak, but it was enough to get the singer's attention.  "I hate to bother you---."

"Oh, you're no bother, honey," Stella said with a welcoming smile.  "You looking for an autograph?"

"Actually, I'm looking for my…f-f-friend.  She came back here to m-m-meet you."  Darn it, the stutter was back.  Control, she reminded herself.  After all, she's not going to bite you.

A small line settled between Stella's brow as she slowly shook her head.  "No, don't think so," she said.  "I'm sorry, but nobody's been back here since the set ended."

It was Tara's turn to frown.  "But…Freddie said…he knew you…and then they c-c-came back here."

Another shake of her head.  "I don't know anybody named Freddie.  Again, I'm very sorry."  She stepped forward, obviously preparing to go, and the pair in the entrance automatically stepped back and out of her way as she moved into the hall.  "Good luck in finding your friend," she called back as she headed for the door at the end.  "I'm sure she's around here somewhere."

As soon as they were alone, Spike's hand settled on Tara's shoulder and turned her around to face him.  "Go get the Slayer," he instructed, his voice firm.  "I'm goin' to go keep me an eye on our little Southern songstress before she hightails it out of here."

"Why?"

"Because she's lying through her teeth."  He nodded toward the now empty dressing room.  "Red's scent is all over this place."  As well as that other smell he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"You think she's in danger?"  It was a stupid question and she knew it.  There was no way Spike would get himself involved in something like this if he didn't think something was seriously wrong.  For that matter…why _was he getting involved?_

He was already following after Stella.  "Just go get Buffy," he repeated, ignoring her plea.  "Tell her I'll call Rupert if I find anything."  

So much for my non-Slayer-related night out, he thought ruefully as he moved back out into the club, tracking the trail the singer had left through the throng.  And how much do I wanna bet I don't even get credit for chipping in?

*************

Only the light on the desk was on.  In the sweltering heat, anything more seemed like it would only add to the temperature of the room, and the last thing Buffy wanted right now was to be even hotter.  Lying on top of her blankets, she stared up at the ceiling, listening to the quiet from the campus filter through her open window, watching a black spot---_was it a fly?  God, I hope so_---inch itself across the white plaster.  Well, not so white, more like gray.  Dark gray.  Nighttime had a way of making everything look gray.

She almost wished that the dorm wasn't quite so empty, that she hadn't opted to stay with Willow while the redhead finished working on some project for one of her professors.  It hadn't been difficult to obtain the special permission to stay just a little bit longer; teacher's pet Willow had matriculated with graceful ease into the college milieu, and getting things they wanted from authority figures was relative cake.  Score one for brainy best friends, she thought.  Well, score many.  She had come through in a pinch on so many occasions, it was pointless to even keep track any more.

Maybe I should've gone with them to the Bronze, Buffy mused wistfully, pulling at the hem of the t-shirt she'd slipped into after getting back to their room, hearing it suck at her skin as her perspiration soaked into the fabric.  I think too much when I'm alone, and that way only ever leads to badness.  Plus, loud music and cute guys usually adds up to fun and excitement, right?  Don't I deserve a bit of that in my currently single state?

Though her muscles ached from the pleasant exertion of a full night of slaying, she had to admit that the most exciting thing that had happened to her tonight was finding Spike following her.  And that wasn't saying a whole helluva lot.  It seemed like, no matter where she went, there he was.  Or no matter what she had to say, his name would inevitably pop into the conversation.  Like some weird, reverse kismet or something.  She was being punished for being Chosen by having a chipped albatross around her neck.  Or on her heels, as the case may be.

At least she didn't have to worry about protecting anyone from him anymore.  Thank God for the Initiative for doing _one_ thing right.  He was even helping in keeping down the local demon population.  OK, so he was doing it because they were the only things he could kill, and maybe sometimes he seemed to take just a little too much pleasure in making it as messy as possible, but still, help was help.  She needed to stop looking a gift vamp in the mouth.

Speaking of mouths…why did it seem like he was always laughing at her?  She squirmed at the memory of the twist of those lips as he watched her, making his cracks about Riley being in the bushes, and then settling into something else when he'd seen her start to tear up, so full…and soft…

Buffy bolted from the bed before the image could get any clearer.  Bad thoughts.  Spike lips are bad.  Thinking of Spike lips is bad.  Potentially dreaming about Spike lips is double bad, triple bad even.  Her mind raced, a whirlwind in search of a solution and almost laughed out loud when she saw her towel draped over the back of her chair.  A shower, her head announced triumphantly.  That's what I need.  A nice, cool shower will clean away all the sticky sweat, and make me forget it's about a thousand degrees outside, and relax me enough so that I can sleep.

The irony that she was taking a cold shower to escape having to think about Spike never even dawned on her.

It was only a matter of minutes before Buffy was standing under the icy spray, her head tilted back as it pelted against her throat, her sighs of relief audible in the community bathroom.  Soooo…much…better, she crooned silently, her eyes closed as she just let her skin soak up the chilled liquid, willing her muscles to loosen under the onslaught of the water.

It had been days since she'd felt completely relaxed, the arguments between her and Riley escalating to the point where she couldn't walk away using patrolling as an excuse anymore.  His words still rankled, coming back to bite her in the ass when she least expected them to, and she briefly wondered what the statute of limitations on replaying conversations over in your head was.

"I don't know what you expect me to do," he had said just last night.  He'd stopped by her room after she'd cancelled on a date with him, using her slaying duties as an excuse not to have to face another fight with him.  It was exhausting trying to keep up with the way his head worked, the scenarios he kept concocting as he tried to wring some answers from her.  She was just trying to have a little break.

"I wasn't aware that I was imposing my expectations on you," she'd retorted, and then tried to turn it into a joke by adding, "Did we forget to add that pesky no-imposition clause into our relationship contract?"

"It's just…I love you, you know that.  And I know you _like me, and I'm not asking for anything more than that, trust me.  But a guy likes to feel like he's needed, you know?  Like you see him when he walks into a room."  He'd shaken his head.  "I'm beginning to think I need to sprout fangs and make with the growls in order to get any attention from you."_

"I hardly pay any more attention to Spike than you," she'd protested.

The room had been wrapped in silence for a long minute before he'd replied.  "I wasn't talking about Spike," Riley'd said quietly, and it was obvious that the correlation had never occurred to him until she'd brought up the demon's name.  "I was referring to vampires in general."

And that had been that.  The final nail in the coffin of her dead relationships.  And, as usual, it was all Spike's fault.

Buffy turned in the shower, allowing the cool water to flow over her back, her eyes fluttering closed as she pressed her forehead against the cool tile of the wall.  She was still furious with herself for jumping to the wrong conclusion.  Maybe he wouldn't have left if I'd just kept my mouth shut, she wondered.  Maybe everything would be all right now.

_Is that what you really want?_  The little voice in the back of her head was almost impossible to hear over the tumult of her thoughts, but the Slayer stiffened as its words penetrated her fog.  Of course, it is, she argued back.  I want nice and normal, not dark and dangerous.  It's what I've always wanted.

_Uh huh, yeah, right.  _

Nobody asked you, she grumbled, and shoved it away, deliberately focusing her thoughts on anything but Riley at the moment.  Slaying.  Yeah, think about slaying.  Nine vamps officially off the bloody path tonight.  Not too bad for being interrupted.  Plus, I got to hit Spike.  That's always a good thing.  

And there he was again.

Like a really bad rash that just wouldn't go away.

A rash that made her skin crawl from thousand upon thousands of tiny little fingers pulling and pinching at her flesh, coaxing it to life even as it sought to sear it away.  That started someplace hidden, spreading outward to wrap her in its prickly embrace.  Persistent.  Persevering.  Lasting…

When did it get so hot in here?

Reaching for her sponge, Buffy stepped back into the stream of the shower, turning up the pressure until it was pounding viciously against her skin, skin that seemed determined to stay flushed and hot no matter what she did to it.  This is definitely not working, she decided.  Time to lather it up and rinse it off so that I can go toss and turn in the comfort of my own bed.

It was a good plan.  It probably would've even worked if she hadn't automatically lifted her leg to wash away the sweat that hid in the depths between her thighs.

As soon as the sponge flicked across her clit, Buffy gasped, suddenly all too aware of how on edge her body really was.  Sparks shot up her stomach, and when she glanced down, there was no mistaking the goosebumps that were now erupting across her flesh as her fingers hesitantly traced the cleft between her legs.  When did I get so wet? she wondered, eyes wide, oblivious now to the water cascading over her skin.  Must've been the thinking about slaying.  Faith always had a point about it making us horny and hungry.

As if they had a mind of their own, Buffy's fingers began gliding, up one side…down the other…her eyes fluttering closed as her breathing grew increasingly shallow.  Each drop pelting her shoulders kissed in icy needles, tormenting her heated flesh with promises of reprieve, and the sponge fell from her hand, forgotten as her explorations deepened.

One finger…the pulsations along the inner walls already quivering in anticipation of more.  Then it was two, and her thumb had found her clit again, each touch forcing the air from her lungs.

Faster, and harder, and then Buffy had grabbed at the shower head to steady herself as her knees began to tremble, tilting her head back so that the water beat against her chest before dripping in thunderous rivulets to the tiled floor.  Like vampire kisses, she thought suddenly.  Cold, and wet, and everywhere at once.  Angel's face floated before her inner eye, and she sighed in satisfaction, the memories of how his lips felt on hers blocking out everything Riley had ever done with a single sweep.  _Nice_ vampire kisses…

And then he was gone, and the Slayer found herself fixating on the bluest of blue, a storm rioting over sculpted cheekbones, gazing back at her from inside her head as if she was the last meal being given to a man on death row, filet mignon when he'd requested hamburger.

"Noooo…" she whispered out loud, but it was lost in the sound of the water echoing throughout the bathroom, the tympani of her pulse doubling in the space of a second.  The hand between her legs didn't hear it either.  More…and more…and _oh god that was Spike…and her muscles didn't want to work anymore, fighting to keep her vertical as she neared her orgasm._

No matter how hard she squeezed her eyes, he remained right there, smirking, and watching, and she could almost smell him now, and…

"_Spiiiiiike_…" Buffy hissed as her body shuddered in its climax.

It was only when it was over that she realized what had happened, and hastily cleaned herself off in order to escape the memories of the shower.  I did _not just get off thinking about _Spike_, she thought, rubbing furiously at her flesh with her towel.  I was already all worked up.  And I was thinking about Angel first anyway.  That's got to count for something.  I'm just hot, and distracted, and…and…and I absolutely did _not_ just come thinking about the chipped wonder!_

She was still trying to convince herself of that when she stepped out into the hallway and saw Tara pounding at her bedroom door.  Immediately, she frowned.  Not the person she was expecting to see.  Not that she was expecting to see anybody, but she was supposed to be at the Bronze.  With Willow.  "Tara?" she asked, continuing toward her.  "What's wrong?"

The blonde witch whirled at the sound of her voice, and Buffy saw the worry etched in her wide features, her own thoughts stripping away to focus on the young girl in front of her.  "Please tell me you've seen Willow tonight," Tara pleaded.

"Not since I left for patrol."  She was at her side in a shot, sliding her arm around the shoulders that suddenly seemed to lose control, supporting Tara while trying to juggle her toiletries as she led her into her room.  "Did something happen?  Did you two have a fight or something?"

She looked up at Buffy, eyes shining.  "Or something."  She swallowed, trying to rid herself of the lump in her throat that had been lodged there ever since Spike's announcement back at the club.  "I think Willow's in trouble."

*************

Each of them was locked in his or her own world.  

Giles was sitting on one of the stools by his kitchen, endlessly cleaning his glasses, blue eyes staring off into nothing.  Ever since Spike's phone call, he hadn't said a word, just…sat there.  Hopefully thinking up one of his brilliant ideas, Buffy thought.  Something that would get Willow back as soon as possible.

Tara sat motionless in the overstuffed chair, hands folded in her lap, just watching the others in the room.  She, too, had been mute, but her silence had been longer than the Watcher's.  She hadn't said anything since repeating to the others the same story she'd told the Slayer.

Xander was eating donut after donut, ignoring the crumbs that were falling to the floor, doing his best not to shrug off Anya's constant stroking.  His girlfriend didn't know what to do but try and console him by touching.  She and Willow had never been all that close, and the fact that she was often jealous of the close relationship Xander shared with the redhead didn't help in boosting her sympathy factor at the moment.  Still, a friend was a friend, and she was going to be there and support them in their moment of need.  No more running for this girl.

And Buffy couldn't stop pacing, remnants of Tara's story playing over and over in her head as she fought against every instinct she had to just go out and hunt down whoever this singer really was.  

"She wasn't really acting like herself, you know?" the blonde witch had said.  "She barely said hello to Freddie and was hardly even polite to him afterward until he mentioned he could take her backstage.  Then, she couldn't seem to get enough of him.  It's weird, because she was all wrapped up in the music, l-l-like it was the only thing in the room.  Oh, and that singer, too.  Stella something.  It was all so…un-Willowy.  Like it was her body that was sitting there, but not her head."  She'd sighed.  "I'm babble girl right now.  I'm sure I'm not making any sense."

Giles and Xander had been apprised of the situation as soon as they were congregated at the Watcher's apartment, and Buffy had been about to go out and do some looking for Willow on her own when Spike had called, announcing that the singer had just hopped on a bus out of town.  A quick instruction to get over to the flat as quickly as possible had been issued between the two Englishmen, and now they sat in wait for the vampire to show his face.

When the knock came to the door, Buffy was there before he'd even lowered his arm, staring into that calm face as her own fluster blushed her skin in rose.  "Well, well," he drawled, brushing past her with the ease of the invitation they'd never bothered to revoke, "looks like I'm missin' quite the party here."

"We don't have time for this," Buffy said tightly.  "We need to know everything you saw at the Bronze.  How you knew Willow wasn't there.  What happened with the singer you followed.  Everything."

His gaze was steady on the others as he hopped up onto the stool next to Giles, pulling his duster around his legs as he reached behind him for one of the biscuits on the counter.  "You finally found Jaffa cakes," he commented to the Watcher nonchalantly, and was about to pop it into his mouth when the Slayer reached up and knocked it out of his hand.

"This isn't an all-night buffet, Spike.  Spill."

His head tilted.  "And here I come, all good will and bearer of information."  His tongue clicked in reproval.  "Thought you'd at least be nice to me, seein' as I'm the only one of the bunch of you who knows where Red's probably headin'."

That brought Tara to life, and she sat up in the chair to address him.  "You know where she is?" she asked.  "Did you see her with Stella?  Is she safe?"  The question, _is she alive, hung there unspoken, the young witch without the strength to ask it aloud._

He shook his head and briefly explained what he'd seen before entering the Bronze earlier that evening, the Louisiana license plates on the van, the smell of Willow in the air.  "That Stella's from New Orleans," he finished.  "And that's where she's headin' back to, according to the bus schedule."

Giles frowned.  "How can you be certain where she's from?"

"Recognize the accent.  Probably French Quarter, but I could be wrong about that.  It's a bit muddled."

"I never knew you for a linguist, Spike."

The vampire shrugged.  "Just know New Orleans."

"Another city you had to run away from?" Buffy said coldly, her arms folded across her chest.  Professional distance, she'd decided.  What had happened back at the dorm was going to remain locked away in that part of her head where denial reigned supreme, and she was going to treat Spike like she always had.  With a firm fist and every sarcastic quip she could muster.

His eyebrows shot up.  "Are you kidding me?  Have you not _heard_ of Mardi Gras?  One of the biggest parties in the world, Slayer.  No way was I not there with bells on every chance I got."

"So you think this Freddie snatched her and is taking her to New Orleans?"  This came from Xander, the first thing out of his mouth since Spike's arrival.

"I'd wager a pretty penny that that's exactly what happened."

The room was silent for a moment before Buffy exploded.  "So, we have to go get her!  I'm not just going to sit here and wait for some phone call saying they've found her body abandoned by the road somewhere in the middle of Texas or something."  She wasn't even going to vocalize that other fear---that her best friend could end up as vampire or worse---because then that would mean actually confronting the possibility.  No.  Both Spike and Tara seemed to think that this singer and mysterious Freddie were both human, so it was probably just some evil human plot instead of some evil demon plot for a change.  That still didn't make it good, though.

"I agree."  Giles' voice was low, chewing on the end of his glasses as he mulled over the possibilities.  "Buffy and Spike should leave straight away for New Orleans---."

"What?!?"

Their exclamations were simultaneous, both blonds staring at the Watcher like he'd grown a third head.  "You did not just say, Buffy _and_ Spike," the Slayer snapped.

"How did I get roped into this?" Spike demanded.  "I never asked---."

"You're the only logical choice to take Buffy," Giles interrupted.  Replacing his spectacles on his nose, he rose from his stool and faced the pair of them.  "You have a car where Buffy doesn't.  You've seen both this Stella and the van, which Buffy hasn't.  And, by your own admission, you know New Orleans, which----."

"---Buffy doesn't," the blonde finished with a heavy sigh.  Her Watcher had a point.  All of their leads were stuck inside Spike's head, and short of cutting it off and dragging them out by hand---a thought which she actually considered for a brief moment in time---it was going to be best to have him around in order to help find Willow.  Because that's what mattered at this point.  Keep Willow safe.  No matter what that meant putting up with.

Spike's eyes narrowed as he watched the conflict battle itself out across the Slayer's face.  She was actually going to agree to this little arrangement, he realized with a start.  'Course, it was for Red, and she'd probably agree to gouge out her own eyeballs if she thought it would help in bringing her back, but still.  A small flutter jumped in his stomach, and this time, he didn't tamp it down.  This could be…interesting.

"What about the rest of us?" Xander chimed in.  "Are we just supposed to sit here and twiddle our thumbs?"

"Although we're actually quite good at the twiddling," Anya interjected.

"We'll research whatever Buffy needs us to," came Giles' reply.  "You have a job now, Xander.  You're hardly in a position to go running across the country."

"But this is for Willow!"

"And should the need arise, we will go to New Orleans," the Englishman argued.  "But there is still the possibility that Willow is here in Sunnydale.  Someone needs to remain behind in order to search here, as well.  Don't worry.  You won't be…twiddling."

Her mind made up, Buffy set her jaw, her mouth thin as she began marching for the door.  "Fine.  Let's get this show on the road."  She was halfway out the door before she realized that Spike was still perched on his stool behind her, and turned back to glare at him.  "And is there a reason your undead ass isn't moving?" she queried coldly.

He stiffened, pulling himself upright.  "I haven't said I'll do it yet," he replied staunchly, sniffing unnecessarily for good measure.

"You'll do it, or I'm going to staple you to the top of the UC library and stand back to enjoy the sunrise," Buffy threatened.

Rolling his eyes, he snorted in disgust, put upon more for her and her friends' sakes than anything else.  Truth be told, this arrangement didn't bother him all that much.  Maybe by spending a little extra time with the Slayer, he'd be able to suss out why exactly she was getting under his skin and exorcise her for good.  "Don't get your knickers in a twist," he grumbled, sauntering to the doorway.  "I've got no yen for blowin' into the wind just yet."

"Just remember who's got the stake here," she said as they left the apartment.

"Yeah, yeah, heard the song a thousand times, Slayer.  Try singin' a different tune for a change…"

As their voices filtered away, Giles frowned, his blue gaze watching them melt into the night.  Although he believed that this was truly the best course of action to take, he sincerely hoped that they would actually arrive in New Orleans intact, or rather, that Spike would.  Buffy was going to need his resources in order to help Willow.  He only hoped she'd come to the same realization the first time the blond vampire _really pissed her off._

*************

Her head felt fuzzy, kind of like someone had stuffed it full of cotton balls and was now blowing in her ear to make it go whoosh.  For that matter, her tongue felt fuzzy, too, but that was more of a what-I-wouldn't-do-for-a-drink-right-now kind of fuzzy as opposed to the bunnytail kind.

As her mind slowly cleared, Willow's eyes opened to blink against the dim light, or rather, no light.  She was in the back of a van, her hands tied behind her back, her ankles bound in front of her, and a strong piece of tape was pulling at her cheeks, effectively silencing her from saying anything.  Where am I? she thought, trying to turn her head.  In her attempt, something beside her clattered to the metal floor of the vehicle, and the radio she only just realized was playing all of a sudden went quiet.

"You finally up back there?"

She knew that voice, that accent.  Freddie?  What was he doing here?  Was he the reason she was now trussed up tighter than a Thanksgiving turkey?

His chuckle echoed through the van, and she felt a lurch in her stomach as the vehicle pulled to the side of the road, the engine quieting.  "Guess that was kind of a silly question to ask," he said, "seein' as how you can't talk right now."  His body appeared against the windshield as he turned to come into the back, outlined in ebony so that his face was invisible to her.  "I know the tape's a might uncomfortable and all, but Stella says you're probably big on the mojo, so can't be taking any chances, now, can I?"

When he crouched in front of her, she finally saw his bland features, the friendly smile spreading his lips.  How can someone who looks so normal be a psycho kidnapper? she wondered.  She remembered now what had happened in the dressing room, the cloth over her nose that seemed to black everything out around her, how overwhelming the music and Stella's singing had been, how Freddie had said he'd be right back with Tara and their drinks.  It felt otherworldly in a way, like it had happened to someone else.  She only wished she knew why.

"We've got kind of a long trip in front of us," he was saying.  "Now, if you can prove that you can behave yourself, maybe you can have something other than a liquid diet 'til we get there.  Otherwise, I'm afraid you're going to be strawing it for a few days."  He gestured toward the cooler off to their side.

Deep in her throat, Willow gurgled, trying to speak.  Freddie frowned, watching her face, listening intently as he tried to decipher what she might be saying.  "I know you've probably got tons of questions," he finally said.  "But really, Stella's going to have to be the one to answer them all for you.  She's the one with the grand plan, you know."  He smiled, patting her cheek before turning to go back up to the driver's seat.  "I suggest you get yourself some sleep there, Willow.  I'll keep the radio off so you can rest, OK?  And just think of it this way."  He slid into the seat, looking up at her in his rearview mirror.  "In just a few days, you'll be home again…"

To be continued in Chapter 3: Miles in the Sky…


	3. Miles in the Sky

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.  And the chapter titles are courtesy of Miles Davis.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Spike figured out Stella was lying and put it together that Willow was snatched and probably on her way to New Orleans.   At Giles' suggestion, Spike is taking Buffy there while the gang remains behind to ensure she isn't still in Sunnydale… 

*************

Surprise of all surprises, the stubborn chit had refused to let him come up to her room while she grabbed her things for the trip.  Oh sure, Spike thought as he sucked hard at the cigarette, his cheeks hollow as he inhaled the smoke, savoring the delicious burn it created inside his chest.  She follows me into _my_ place while I pack up, usin' that old song of "can't trust you, you're evil" routine, makes a few wisecracks about my lack of décor, and even manages to break the one good piece of kit I've been able to nick by forgetting her Slayer strength for two seconds.  But when it comes to seein' where she hides her unmentionables, all of a sudden, I'm Ol' Faithful, and good enough to be left guarding the car.  Like a damn watchdog she keeps on a very short chain.  Like somebody's even goin' to bloody well steal it anyway.

His hand went out automatically to stroke the metal behind him, fingers deathly white against the ebony of the curved hood, his head turning to gaze affectionately at the vehicle against which he was currently leaning.  Sorry 'bout that, pet, he crooned silently.  You know I love you, right?  It's just I think I'm the only one with brain enough in this hellhole to appreciate your real beauty.  Which might actually be a good thing 'cause then I don't have to worry about some frat boy nicking you from under my nose or something.

As much as he didn't want to admit it, Spike was looking forward to this little road trip.  It had been years since he'd visited New Orleans---a fact he'd neglected to share with the Watcher when the issue had been brought up---and the prospect of returning was enough to make his mouth water.  Now _that_ was a city that knew how to appreciate vampires.  It was a virtual smorgasbord, with tourists who were just begging for a little danger, and every pleasure imaginable able to be satisfied.  You just had to know where to look for it.

And he did, that was for certain.  Though he couldn't hunt on his own, Spike figured he knew enough people, could call in enough markers, to have a grand old time while they were there.  He'd just have to find some way to ditch the Slayer when he wanted to have his real fun.  Somehow, he had a feeling she would object to some of the escapades he had in mind.  "Evil" would probably be the first word out of her mouth, followed quickly by one of those nose punches he hated so much.

Speaking of the Slayer…his hand dropped from the car, his blue gaze turning back to scan the darkened dorm in the distance.  She'd been a bit off ever since they'd left the Watcher's.  Maybe it was just her worry for the witch showing through, but somehow, Spike didn't think so.  None of her gibes held their usual bite, and it wasn't as much fun to play the innuendo game if she wasn't giving it her all.  No challenge, and if the Slayer was anything, it was challenging.  Could be she's still fussed about breaking up with G.I. Joker, he thought.  Buffy didn't cry over just anything and those had been real tears out in his cemetery.

As the memory of her face floated in his head, those shiny hazel eyes of hers glowing incandescent before being turned away from him, a small tug in the pit of his stomach caused his mouth to tighten.  I'm _not_ worried about her, he tried assuring himself.  I'm just interested in keeping my skin intact, is all.  That Stella was most definitely human, and if the Slayer's not up to her game when this all goes down, who's goin' to be there to watch my back?  

It was a lame excuse, but he was sticking with it for now.  Denial worked for him.  Especially when it came to thinking he could in any way be going soft.  On the Slayer.  It was bad enough wanting to shag her senseless every time he saw her.  Or smelled her.  Or thought about her.  He wasn't about to go adding wanting to kiss away her tears to the list as well.

Her scent came to him first, before he could even see her form, and Spike grimaced as his erection sprang to life beneath the black denim.  On second thought, maybe this road trip was a really, really bad idea.  He was going to be sporting a hard-on for the next few days with her smelling like that _and_ being in touching distance.  And hard-ons and driving didn't mix.  Unless, of course, there was somebody attached to the other end of that hard-on.  A hot little mouth, or a Slayer straddling his lap, sliding up and down, all slick and warm, oozing down her thighs, and…

Fuck.  This was going to be a _long_ trip.

Spike frowned when she came into view, eyes darting from the one bag slung over her shoulder to her unsmiling face.  "That's it?" he asked.  "You're gone for half an hour and that's all you're bringing?"

"I was making some calls."  She stopped in front of him, hazel steady on his.  "I wanted Mom to know I wasn't going to be home for a while."

His eyebrow lifted.  "You told your mum you're goin' cross country with me?" he asked incredulous.

She rolled her eyes.  "Don't flatter yourself for being worthy of the truth, Spike," she retorted.  "I told her Will and I were taking a post-final road trip, courtesy of Mr. and Mrs. Rosenberg.  I don't need her worrying about both me _and_ Willow."

When she turned and headed for the rear of the car, the vampire followed, taking the bag from her before she could say a word and slipping his key into the lock on the trunk.  "And you don't think she's goin' to suss out your little lie?" he asked.  "What if she gets together with Red's parents?"

"Not going to happen."  Buffy watched as Spike carefully placed her duffel in amidst the cooler and bag that were already in the car, situating it so that it wouldn't move during the drive, noting with a small frown the sleeping bag and tent that were stashed in the farthest corner.  When did he put those in there? she thought, and quickly shoved the question aside.  Don't wanna know.  "Ever since that whole sitch when Mom and half the town tried to burn us at the stake for being witches, she and Mrs. Rosenberg have kind of been all avoidy about each other.  I have no fears about her checking up on it."

His brows shot even higher.  "Somebody tried flambé-ing the Slayer?  And I missed it?"  He shook his head as he slammed the trunk shut, tutting under his breath as he sauntered to the passenger side of the car.  "Remind me not to take any more holidays from this place if that's the sort of sideshow I'm goin' to miss."

"I am not---."  She stopped, frozen in her steps, staring at him like he'd just sprouted wings.  "What're you doing?" she demanded.

The frown on his face held for a moment as he struggled to understand what she was referring to.  It was only when he glanced over and saw his hand holding the edge of the door he had just opened for the Slayer that his eyes widened, his body jerking back and away as if the metal of the car was suddenly searing his skin.  

"Habit," he barked, his mind scrambling for some kind of explanation she would buy, scolding himself for forgetting yet again.  He couldn't meet her gaze as he stalked around to the driver's seat.  "For Dru.  She…liked that sort of thing.  For me to be all…Galahad.  Bad habit."

For some reason, his excuse disappointed her.  Spike had, for a split second, seemed bordering on the gallant, _normal_ in a my-mama-raised-me-right kind of way.  Kind of like Riley had been.  All about the manners.  She'd always liked that about him.  Not that she was in any way comparing him to Riley.  But to think that the vamp had only done it as a reflex, that he was in any way equating her with that psycho Goth queen from hell, both saddened and enraged her, causing a riot of emotions to go flurrying through her head in a struggle to escape the confines of her skull.

Ignore it, ignore it, she intoned silently as she slid against the black interior of the car.  If you start paying too much attention to all the little things that drive you crazy about Spike, he's going to be dust before you make it out of Sunnydale.

"…second shift," Spike was saying, and Buffy jerked her head to look at him as he slid his key into the ignition.

"Huh?"

"I said," he repeated, his annoyance driving his sapphire gaze to glare at her for not paying attention the first time, "you should probably get some sleep so that you're good and rested when I need you to take the second shift."

"Second shift of what?"

"Of driving?"  He said it like it was completely obvious.

Buffy's eyes went wide.  "You expect me to _drive?  It's __your car.  And it's old.  And…weird.  And it smells kind of funny.  I'll even bet all the pedals are in different places and you're only asking me to drive because you want me to turn us into wrapping paper for some stop sign."_

A frustrated growl rumbled from Spike's throat.  "For one thing, she doesn't smell.  That's vintage leather you've got your ass parked on.  The only time my baby has _ever had an olfactory issue was when I came back to Sunnyhell last year, pissed out of my head because of Dru, 'cause I just didn't give a damn then about keepin' her clean any more."_

"Dru?"

"The _car_."

"Oh."

"Secondly, a car is a car is a car.  You've got your gas, you've got your brake.  Go.  Stop.  Go again.  It's not brain surgery.  Even your little Slayer head should be able to keep that straight."

"Spike---."

"And third," he said, interrupting her as he reached across her lap to the glove compartment, forcing Buffy to press herself back into the seat to avoid his touch, "do you have any bloody idea how far it _is to New Orleans from here?"  He pulled out a small atlas and dropped it unceremoniously onto her lap.  "We're talkin' almost two thousand miles here, pet.  And there is no way in hell I'm clockin' that kind of mileage without a little help."_

"Spike, I---."

"I am here under duress, Slayer.  Remember that."  Spike's grip was vicious as he wrenched the key in the ignition, the engine roaring to life in front of them.  "If you think for a second that I'm lookin' forward to havin' your hot little body anywhere near mine---."

Her hand shot out and grabbed his arm, yanking it away from the steering wheel before he could pull away from the curb.  "Spike!" Buffy barked.  "Will you stop already?  I'm trying to tell you something here."  She waited until he was looking at her, blue eyes glittering in the dark.  "I.  Don't.  Drive."

That wasn't what he was expecting.  A frown immediately creased his features.  "What do you mean, you don't drive?  Everybody drives.  Next to baseball and braggin' about your superiority, it's the American national pastime." 

"Well, this American doesn't."

Silence.  "You're serious."  When she nodded, Spike fell back against his seat, banging his bleached head against the rest.  "Bugger," he muttered, eyes closed.  "How do I get myself into these messes?"

"I don't see what the big deal is," Buffy said.  "You eat when we stop for gas and potty breaks.  I'll be the navigator."  She opened up the map in her lap and looked up at him expectantly.

"With my luck, we'll end up in Butte," Spike said under his breath before looking back at her in clear annoyance.  "What about sleep?  Even if I drove straight through, you're looking at thirty-four, thirty-five hours there.  I'm not sitting on my ass for that long without getting at least a little something out of it."

She knew he meant the occasional nap, but the implication of something other reddened her cheeks, driving her eyes to the map in front of her.  "Maybe we can work something out," she said.  "But this is about Willow, Spike.  I'm not wasting any time I don't have to.  I can't risk that."

The reminder of why exactly they were doing this sobered the vampire, and he pursed his lips, watching the young woman seated next to him.  He didn't know if it was the heat, or her anxiety, or the flush of their recent argument, but the Slayer's skin shone in iridescent beauty under the harsh light of the streetlamp, her heart an erratic thumping that seemed to reverberate through the car.  His irritation dissolved, to be replaced with a resigned acceptance.  How did she do it? he wondered.  This seesaw of emotions she created in him made no sense, and as someone who usually followed his heart instead of his head, the whole thing was making him dizzy.

"Tell you what," Spike said, his voice low.  "You promise not to get us lost, and I'll just catch a few winks when the sun's the highest.  It's hard for me to drive then, anyway.  That way, we can be in New Orleans…two, two and a half days, tops."

"Agreed."  She flashed him a quick smile that surprised both of them.  "I'm good with maps.  You'll see."

The vamp nodded and turned back to the steering wheel, just glad the issue was resolved.  As he dropped the gear stick into drive, he heard her confused voice pipe up from the passenger seat.

"Spike…where's the air conditioning?"

*************

Buffy frowned as the car began to slow down and Spike turned the wheel to pull it into the gas station.  "Why are we stopping?" she asked.  "We can't be out of gas already."

"No, but this is the last station for a bit, so I thought I'd fill up on petrol before I had to start worrying about running out."  He shot her a lewd grin.  "Unless you _want to be stuck with me in the middle of nowhere without a lick of petrol in the tank, 'cause then---."_

"Ewww, no," the Slayer grimaced.

He shrugged, pulling the keys out of the ignition.  "Suit yourself.  I'm goin' to get me some smokes, too.  You want anything?"

She shook her head, propping her head up in her hand on the open window to stare out at the neon in the glassfront of the station.  This had been his one concession regarding the lack of central air; as long as the sun was down, she could keep the windows down to allow a breeze to cool the interior of the car.  So far, it wasn't too bad, but she just knew that the days were going to be hell.  Blacked out windows with no way to cool it down?  She was going to fry.  Buffy, thy name is toast, she thought tiredly.

*************

The music was too loud in the overly lit space of the gas station, but that was mostly to keep him awake.  He hated working the graveyard shift.  The only reason Carol kept putting him on it was because he was the only one of her employees to ever have dealt directly with a vampire before.  Stupid bitch, he grumbled.  I graduated with Buffy Summers; _of course, I've dealt with vampires before.  Didn't mean he had to like the distinction._

Still, it was usually pretty easy work.  Not very many people stopped by once the sun went down, so he could spend a good part of his shift looking at the porn behind the counter.  Right now, he was halfway through this month's issue of Penthouse's Letters.  He was just about to start a story about a guy, a girl, and an inner tube, when he heard the engine roar up to the pumps, and looked up in anticipation of his customer.

Ice ran through his veins when he saw the DeSoto come to a halt and the familiar blond head appear in the driver's side window.  Shit.  Spike.  What the hell was he doing here?  His mind raced, scrambling in his panic to find a solution, and his grip automatically tightened around the stake he kept hidden behind the extra till rolls.  Spike never paid for anything when he stopped by; of course, he usually only stopped by when he was either coming to or leaving Sunnydale, so thank god it didn't happen that often.  And if he was in a foul mood, the bleached vamp just might decide to have himself a midnight snack as well as a top-up on that beat-up piece of junk of his.  Shit, shit, shit.  

The Slayer.  Yeah.  She'd take care of him.  Maybe if he called Buffy…

His eyes widened even as he was reaching for the telephone.  Though he couldn't hear what was being said, the gas attendant was able to pick up the accented baritone of the vampire as he climbed out of his car.  But that wasn't what stopped him from picking up the receiver.  It was the unsmiling face of Buffy Summers leaning over from the passenger side to say something unintelligible in response to whatever Spike had just said.  She looked hot, and tired, and god, she was just as gorgeous as she had been in high school, maybe a little thinner, but still…

Focus, he reminded himself sharply and positioned himself behind the cash register, making sure to keep his eyes on the car outside, watching as Spike pulled the nozzle from the pump.  If Spike's got the Slayer, that means she's not in any position to help you.  Maybe he's vamped her.  Fuck, he was a bloodshake for sure if that was the case.  No way could he handle _two vampires.  Except she didn't look like a vampire.  Well, for that matter, neither did Spike, not really.  Except when he went all fangy and started ripping into people's necks.  I wonder what it's like to _be_ a vampire, his mind wandered, and he grimaced as he realized he was getting away from the subject at hand again.  _

Focus, he repeated.  Stay alive.  Don't stare at Spike.  Or the Slayer.  It'll probably just piss them off.  Pissed off demons and angry humans with super-power strength were not generally good things.  Stay alive.  I wonder why she's with him.  Maybe she's only gone evil.  An evil Slayer.  That wouldn't bode well for the citizens of Sunnydale.  God, she's hot…

He jumped when the bell over the door jingled and Spike came sauntering in, that leather coat of his flapping around his ankles.  Why am I so scared of him? the attendant thought as his eyes darted between the vampire heading straight for the back cooler, and the mirrors mounted in the corners of the stores, the same mirrors that lied to him by showing him as the only person in the store.  I'm taller than he is.  I probably weigh more.  Shit, he's actually not that big of a guy.  Maybe it's just all the black leather and the outdated punk look, he debated.  Maybe at heart, he's just a card-carrying member of the Walt Whitman club, and the whole Big Bad image is just a huge fabrication to hide some major insecurity.

He almost laughed out loud at the ridiculousness of his train of thought.  Yeah.  Right.  And my name's Little Lord Fauntleroy.  Spike's a badass and everybody knows it.

The thump of the sodas hitting the counter was muffled by the rustle of the candy that followed soon after, and the attendant slid as far away from the blond vampire as he could and still be able to reach his merchandise to ring it up.

"Two packs of---," Spike started, and then stopped as two of his favorite brand of cigarettes suddenly appeared on the counter.  "I had fifteen in petrol, too."

The attendant frowned as the vamp pulled a wad of cash from his duster pocket.  Shit, he was going to _pay_ for it all!  Had the world stopped turning?  A quick glance stolen out to the car afforded him a brief glimpse of Buffy.  Maybe Spike was turning a new leaf.  Maybe that's why the Slayer was hanging out with him.  Maybe they were dating now, or something.  Hadn't there been rumors about her dating a vampire when they'd been in high school?  He'd seen her hanging around the Bronze with some older guy a couple times.  Dark.  No neck.  Too much forehead.  A hot chick like Buffy could've done better…

Quickly, his fingers punched in the amounts on the register.  "Taking a little road trip?" he asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.  Maybe if he's talking, he won't think about eating me, he thought.  Keep his mouth occupied with something other than biting.  I wonder if he'd like some nachos?  Of course, then I'll just have to make some more up---.

"Headin' to New Orleans," Spike replied.  He was staring curiously at a display behind the counter.

"Really?"  The attendant hit the total button.  "Is there some kind of party going on there or something?  Because you're the second car I've had through here tonight who's headed there."

When the vampire whipped his head around to stare at him, the cashier felt his fear return, settling in his stomach like a load of ball bearings as those blue eyes flashed at him.  Shit, he thought.  What did I say?

"Was it a van?" Spike demanded.  A shaky nod.  "Who paid?  A bloke?  Did he have a cute little redhead with him?  Too perky for her own good?"

He frowned.  "A black van, yeah," he stammered.  "A guy paid, but he was all by himself.  The only reason I know where he was going was because I asked him about his accent.  He sounded like something off Gomer Pyle."

"What did he look like?"

"I dunno.  Like a guy."  He cringed as this answer only seemed to infuriate Spike further, his mind searching for something---anything---he could give the vampire.  "Tall, kinda thin.  Light brown hair."  The memory jumped at him, lighting up his face.  "Oh!  He had this mark on his wrist.  Like a scar or something.  I saw it when he handed me his money."

"What did it look like?"

"It was weird.  I'll draw it for you."  Grabbing a napkin from by the nachos display, the attendant hastily sketched out what he'd seen, handing it over to Spike as quickly as he could.

The vamp took a minute to study it, dark brows knitted together as he mulled it over.  After a moment, he carefully folded the piece of paper and stuck it in his coat pocket.  "Thanks," he said distractedly.

His eyes widened.  Did Spike just show _gratitude_? he thought wildly.  He hung back, waiting for whatever other shoe was going to drop and hit him over the head, right before it sucked out all his blood.  Spike still had the roll of bills in his hand, and his gaze had returned to the display behind the counter.

"Toss one of those in," he said, gesturing toward the box.

Easing himself back so that he only had to look away for a second---_he's trying to distract me, that's it_---the attendant saw the display of handheld fans.  "One of these?" he asked, picking up a blue one.

"Yeah."  There was a short pause, where Spike glanced back out to the car before returning his steady gaze to the nervous cashier.  "Make it one of the purple sparkly ones."

*************

She was pretending to be asleep, her cheek stuck in sweat to the leather headrest, the air from the open windows tickling her nose with the tendrils of her hair it kept picking up and blowing around.  She couldn't help but wonder if Spike knew she was faking it, if those damn vampire senses of his could tell the difference between a sleeping Buffy and an awake Buffy, but quickly decided that she preferred not to know.  It was just easier that way.

Stopping at the gas station had turned out to be a good idea, even if it had been Spike's.  Not only had they gotten confirmation that the van Spike had seen was on its way to New Orleans, but they'd gotten a fresh clue as to the identity of this Freddie guy.  That's who they were assuming had snatched Willow.  The description they'd been given seemed to match with the one Tara had shared.  Minus the scar, of course, but the blonde witch just might not have seen it in the dark of the Bronze.

Buffy had stared at the drawing the gas attendant had made, memorizing the formation of the two conjoined circles with the line splitting their intersection, and felt an overwhelming urge to turn around, drive back to Sunnydale, and give it to Giles.  This was most definitely a research thing.

"We can find a way to fax it back to Rupert," Spike had said before she could vocalize her thoughts.  His blue eyes had bored into hers, too murky to be easily read in the moonlight as they sat in the car.  "We know now that we're on Red's trail for sure.  We don't want to lose time by backtracking at this point."

She didn't know where this sudden concern for Willow was coming from, but Buffy knew he was right.  Go back now, and they lost whatever advantage they had by following after them so quickly.  Plus, this gave them an excuse to stop more frequently to check to see if anyone else saw the van.  And if, for some reason, they came across it themselves, well, then, all the better.

They had Stella to keep an eye out for, as well.  Spike had confirmed the route the bus would be taking on its way to New Orleans, and they were going to stick with it as closely as they dared without losing too much time.  Buffy had a few words she wanted to share with the singer she had yet to meet, most of which she would never have been able to repeat in front of her mother.  The Slayer didn't take too well with liars.

Beside her, Spike was humming under his breath as they drove down the highway, something she didn't recognize, seemingly taking care not to get too loud to disturb her.  How much music must he have listened to his in his lifetime? she wondered aimlessly.  A century worth of songs bouncing around in that skull of his, as well as a century worth of history, and a century worth of experiences, and…

"If you're not comfortable enough to sleep, I can always pull over so that you can stretch out in the back," Spike said, his voice low, interrupting her train of thought with a quiet rumble.

Damn.  He _can tell when I'm not sleeping._

Slowly, Buffy lifted her lids and stared at the strong profile outlined against the open window.  He had one arm propped up in the window frame, fingers tapping against the roof outside, while he dexterously steered the car with his right.  The moonlight spilling across the interior of the car left half his face half in shadow, the other half gilded in silver, turning the blue of his eyes into limpid pools of ebony.  There was no tension in his muscles, his jaw relaxed for one of the first times ever in her presence, and she silently remarked at how youthful it made him look, almost…vulnerable.  Wouldn't he love to hear that…

For a split second, that sense of normalcy she'd been fighting ever since he'd walked with her in the cemetery washed over her in a pillow-soft embrace, coaxing a wistful smile to her lips.  He was just so damn surprising.  

He'd emerged from the gas station with the last-minute soda she'd requested, and then proceeded to wordlessly hand her the portable fan he'd bought for her as well, even as he kept his gaze averted and concentrated on tucking his cigarettes into the visor over his head.  Her thumb had grazed over the sliding on/off switch, sending the tiny plastic blades into a frenzy before clicking them back to lifelessness, wondering what in the world would possess the chipped vamp to do this.  It wasn't like she asked him to.

Yeah.  Surprising.

"I'm OK," she said, and tore her eyes away to straighten in her seat, staring out at the California countryside hurtling toward her.  Or was it Arizona already?  Could be.  They'd been driving long enough.  "Just…thinking about Willow.  And stuff."

He didn't answer.  No reason for him to, really, Buffy thought.  Willow wasn't his friend, after all.  Absentmindedly, she mirrored his position, resting her elbow on the edge of the window and cupping her hand to catch the wind as they drove along, every once in a while letting the air catch her arm and throw it back.

Spike stared at her, watching this and the road for over a minute before finally speaking up.  "What the hell are you doin'?" he asked.

"Aeropalmics," she replied automatically.

"Aero whatsits?"

"Aeropalmics," she repeated, glancing over at him.  

"That's not a word."

"Yes, it is.  It's a sniglet."

"And what in all that is good and evil, is a sniglet?"

Buffy sighed.  "It's kind of a like…a word that should be in the dictionary, but isn't."  She began catching the wind again.  "Aeropalmics is what you call measuring wind resistance by cupping your hand out the car window.  Mom has a whole book of them somewhere.  We used to sit around on long car trips and make up our own."

Somehow, the idea of Joyce and a miniature Buffy playing word games tickled Spike to no end, and he smiled, imagining what those rides must've been like.  "Well, if you're not planning on sleeping," he said, "why don't you share some?  It'll help me from going loopy from sitting here and staring at the same old boring road for hours on end."

As a plan of distraction, it was actually kind of a good one, the Slayer thought.  Absolutely impersonal, no mention of Willow to create further anxiety when she wasn't in a position currently to do anything about it, and totally silly.  It would work.  "OK," she said, deliberating for a moment before brightening.  "Here's one.  Did you know that I'm aquadextrous?"

"What's that?"

"That means I can turn the faucet in the tub on and off with my toes."

Spike grinned.  "Doesn't surprise me.  You're the Slayer.  You could probably stake a vamp with those toes."  He shot her a sideways glance that swept over her bare legs, settling briefly on the painted nails visible through her sandals, before returning to the road ahead.  Bet she could do a lot _more with her toes, he thought, and felt his cock rise at the prospect._

Buffy didn't notice, too lost in trying to remember more from her childhood games.  "Oh!  This one's good.  Mom always said, that when I was little, I suffered from pajangle."  She waited expectantly for him to question the new word.

He didn't fail her.  "What's pajangle?"

"It's when you wake up, and your pyjamas are completely turned around by a hundred and eighty degrees.  Front to back, and back to front."  She smiled widely, the memory of Joyce's face as she would try to explain how on earth a three-year-old could do such a thing diverting her temporarily from their most recent crisis.  And the fact that she was stuck in it with Spike.

In spite of the absurdity of their current conversation, Spike found himself relaxing in the Slayer's presence, muscles slowly unfolding from tight furls as he laughed at her stupid definitions, shook his head at her silly stories.  His erection never went away, but in the warm space of the front seat of the DeSoto, for a while there, it didn't matter.  It wasn't until she'd drifted off to sleep, her legs tucked up beneath her as her golden head slumped against the leather behind, did it occur to the vampire that they had probably just managed their first real conversation.  One that didn't involve insults, or threats, or repeated sexual innuendos.  Granted, they'd just spent the last forty-five minutes talking about words that weren't really words, avoiding anything remotely real, but it didn't dim the accomplishment, at least not to him.  Oddly enough, it left him feeling pleased.

The twinkle of the stars in the horizon caught Spike's eye, and he sighed, lips quirking, leaning heavily back into his seat.  He didn't know what the hell was going on.  Not in his head, not in her head, not in this bloody car.  For some reason, though, at the moment…he just didn't care.  He was just going to sit back and enjoy the ride.

*************

Her dark eyes stared up at the stars in the sky as she leaned her head against the glass.  She was too wound up to sleep, too excited about the events of the night to let go of the tether her head had on the waking world and succumb to the ravages of rest.  The smile that rose to Stella's lips was gleeful.  For once in what was a long, long time, life was finally going her way again.

She was leaving Sunnydale a lot sooner than they had planned.  The gig was just an excuse to be in the town, to give them the means to afford such an excursion.  They had the name they needed, had seen the pictures so that they knew who to look for, and had anticipated going to her on the college campus, talking to her there, drawing her in, maybe even telling her the truth to see if she would come of her own accord.  Never had they dreamed that Willow would come to them, be the one to seek her out.  

That was what finally vanquished the doubt that had still resided in Stella's mind prior to the show.  

It was meant to be.  

_She_ was meant to be.  

Because Willow had known.  She had seen the recognition in the redhead's eyes.  Not even death could strip that knowledge from her…

To be continued in Chapter 4: Honky Tonk…


	4. Honky Tonk

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.  And the chapter titles are courtesy of Miles Davis.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Willow has been snatched by Freddie, and Spike and Buffy are on the road to New Orleans to try and get her back…

*************

She wasn't as good at map-reading as she thought.

After what had actually been a promising start to their road trip---hell, Spike had made it out of Sunnydale with all his appendages still attached; that most definitely qualified as a promising start---Buffy had been rudely awakened from her slumber by the slamming of the brakes, a series of British epithets only half of which she recognized, and a flurry of feathers flying into the windshield.

She had shrieked in surprise, covering her head as if whatever it was, was going to come crashing through the glass, and then peeked through her fingers as Spike twisted the wheel to the side and killed the engine.  "What happened?" she'd said as he jumped from the car.

He'd ignored her, but his curses had gotten worse, punctuated with a few vicious kicks at his tires as he ranted along the roadside.  Once she'd realized she wasn't in danger of being inundated with feathers, Buffy had hopped from the car herself, to stand and gaze in the waning hours before dawn at the mess that was now perched atop the DeSoto.

"What is it?" she'd said with a grimace.

"A wild fuckin' turkey," Spike had snarled, grabbing the animal by the legs that had managed to lodge themselves in his grille and ripping it from the hood.  His strength tore one of the bird's limbs from its socket as he yanked, sending a spurt of still-warm blood through the air to soak into the vampire's jeans.  "Bloody hell!" he growled, and furiously tossed the turkey into the brush, only to look back and see the series of scratches across the metal that had been left in its wake.  As his face screwed up in dismay, Spike leaned forward to inspect the damage on his car, all the while muttering under his breath and shaking his head.

Buffy couldn't get her eyes off the dead bird.  "_That's_ a turkey?" she'd said.  "It's huge.  Not to mention, one of the ugliest things I've ever seen for a dead creature."  She couldn't help the smile she flashed to the blond.  "It even makes _you look good, Spike."_

The look he'd shot her had been venomous, his eyes glinting in gold.  "Get back in the car," he'd ordered, stomping around to the driver's side.

"I don't know what you're so worked up about.  It's not like it even put a dent in it.  Just a few little chicken scratches.  Except, I guess in this case, they would be more like turkey scratches."

"Do you have any idea how much it costs to paint this thing?  Found that out last time I hit that damn Sunnydale sign.  _That's not happening again, I can tell you that.  Not with the prices Marco charges for touch-ups."  _

Buffy'd rolled her eyes as she'd slid back onto the leather.  "You're such a guy sometimes, Spike.  It's just a car.  It's not even a _cute car.  It's an old, black, tin can with a motor.  And I still think it smells."  Her smile returned, this time accompanied by a giggle.  "Of course, now it smells like wild turkey."_

The interior had been silent for a long moment as his fingers gnarled around the steering wheel.  As the muscles in his jaw flexed, he stared at the road ahead, his head tilting once to the side to audibly crack the joint in his neck, and when he spoke again, Spike's voice was eerily calm.  "Wouldn't be making with the funnies too loudly there, Slayer," he said, his now steady hand descending to turn the key in the ignition.  "For someone who smells like she just took a bath in a vat of flophouse sweat, you're not really in any position to be makin' judgment calls on body odor, now are you?"

Her jaw had literally dropped.  So, she'd sweated a little.  It was summer, and hot as hell, and…and…She couldn't even finish the mute argument as her cheeks flamed in embarrassment and she scrunched herself down in the seat, trying to put as much distance between her and Spike as was physically possible in the car.  I even took a shower, she'd thought angrily.  And it's his stupid fault he doesn't have air conditioning.  And I _don't smell.  And why do I care if he thinks I do?  Stupid vampire…_

Things had pretty much gone downhill from there.

Daylight had made Spike even more cranky, arguing with her at every junction about stopping, demanding that now she was awake he be allowed to listen to his music to help pass the time.  That soft humming that had lulled her into a sense of complacency during the night was replaced by boisterous bellowing, a string of punk songs streaming from the speakers in neverending succession, until Buffy's head was splitting from the noise of it all.  He's not even _trying to stay in tune, she'd mentally whined more than once, and tried to drown it all out by burying herself in the atlas._

Navigating was hard when all the windows were blacked out except for the tiny sliver directly in front of Spike so that he could see where he was going.  It was possible to make out the signs that zoomed past them, but only if Buffy squinted and peered through the paint, and more than once, she'd had to tell Spike to stop and turn around because she'd missed one.  But when she saw the sign for the Indian reservation and then looked down at the map in front of her, the Slayer's heart sank.

"Pull over," she instructed.

"Don't tell me you missed another soddin' sign," Spike grumbled as he edged his way onto the shoulder, lowering the volume on the radio as he did so.

For a minute, she didn't say anything, just stared at the tiny map in front of her, one finger on the colored patch that was the reservation and another tracing the thin line of the route Spike had told her to stick to.  Though the gap between them wasn't that much on paper, a sinking feeling in her heart told her that that inch was just about enough to officially push the chipped vamp over the edge.

"We need to go back," she said quietly, closing the map and folding her hands in her lap.  Calm.  I'll just stay calm.  Pretend nothing major is wrong.  He doesn't need to know how badly I've messed this up.  I'm so sorry, Willow.  We'll get there.  Eventually.

"Don't see what your bleedin' fascination is with all these signs anyway," he groused.  "We haven't needed a single one you've made us go back and appreciate.  I'm sure this one's no different."  He dropped the car back into drive.  "It'll be just dandy all on its lonesome back there---."

Buffy's hand shot out and grabbed the wheel, preventing Spike from turning back into the road.  "I don't need the sign," she admitted.  There was going to be no easy way out of this, after all.  Better to just take the pill and swallow it down.  "I know what it said.  It's just for an Indian reservation."

Spike frowned.  "Reservation?  You sure?  I don't remember there bein' a reservation on this stretch…"  Slow understanding crept across his face, a steely glint shining in the blue depths of his eyes.  "You better not be tellin' me we're lost, Slayer."

"No, we're not lost.  I know exactly where we are."  She tried offering a bright smile in the light of his displeasure.  "I guess we shouldn't have taken that left turn at Albuquerque."

"Left at…?  That's bloody north, you stupid bint!  If you've landed us in Butte after all---."

"That was a _joke_, Spike.  Bugs Bunny?  Always getting lost?"  She waited for some sign of recognition, but getting none, sighed heavily and leaned back in her seat.  "We've just…gotten off the path by a few…hundred miles.  Northeast, by the looks of it.  It's no big.  We'll just turn around and---."

"Sod that."

The tires squealed as Spike spun the car around in a clean jerk, throwing Buffy against her door as he headed back in the direction from which they came.  Rubbing irritably at the bump on her head from hitting her window, she glared at the vampire and his stern visage.  "Don't you even want to know how to get back to the main road?" she demanded, fighting back the urge to take the atlas and beat him over his gelled head with it.  Ha.  And he thought Angel wore too much hair gel.

"Don't need it just yet, Slayer.  That's not where we're headin'."

"What're you talking about?"

"Passed a motel and bar not too far back.  You and me are taking a little break from our rescue road trip here."  He smirked as his sapphire gaze raked over her.  "Think we'll both be glad you can spend a bit under a shower.  I know it'll certainly clear the air a bit for me."  He sniffed pointedly.

Buffy's temper flared.  "We had a deal!  No long breaks, remember?"

"Sorry 'bout that---well, actually, I'm not---but deal got tossed as soon as you decided to play at Lewis and Clark."

She didn't know who she was madder at---Spike, for being such an ass about their current situation, or herself, for getting them into it in the first place.  It's not like I did it on purpose, she thought grumpily.  A mistake is a mistake.  I would never do anything deliberately that would put Willow or anyone at risk.  And now it looked like they were going to lose more time because of her poor map-reading skills.

Yet…a small part of her she didn't want to acknowledge was actually glad Spike was forcing this.  A shower sounded exquisite at the moment, and though she hardly thought she smelled as bad as he was suggesting, the chance to cleanse her skin from the sweat that alternately appeared from the sweltering heat only to dissipate under the blowing air from her small fan---_the one Spike bought you_, the little voice in the back of her head reminded her---seemed like an opportunity not to be missed.

"Maybe they'll have a fax," she said quietly.  "We still haven't found one so that we can send Giles that picture of Freddie's mark."  It was as close to acquiescence as he was going to get from her, but they both knew that the winner of this particular battle was most definitely Spike.

*************

This is for Willow, this is for Willow, she intoned silently, her eyes closed as she inhaled deeply.  Her nerves were scattershot, running like scared mice from what she was about to do, and the nagging voice of her father kept resounding in her head.  _Nice girls don't do things like that_, it was saying.  _Or aren't you a nice girl, Tara?  You'll end up in jail, or worse, dead.  And for what?  Nothing.  Absolutely nothing._

Not nothing, she decided, and pushed the thoughts away, her hand wrapping tightly around the doorknob as her lids fluttered open.  Willow is _not_ nothing.  

Mr. Giles was expecting her to come by his apartment to help him in researching why someone, especially an out-of-town someone, would want the red-haired witch, but Tara had taken a small detour on the way there.  At the moment, she was standing at the back entrance to the Bronze, summoning the magic she would need to open the locked door to the stage area, praying that it really was as deserted as it looked.  If someone had been around, she might have asked about the singer to see if anyone could offer any information they didn't already have.  But no one was.  So, she was resorting to breaking and entering in hopes of finding some remnant the singer might have left behind that would give them a clue as to why she'd lied.

The words tumbled from her mouth, and she felt the resistance within the cold steel melt away, allowing it to turn easily within her grasp.  Inside her chest, her heart was pounding, desperate to escape, and the fear that she was going to get caught almost stopped her from following through on actually pulling the door open.  What are you going to find in there anyway? her anxiety worried at her.  Just let it go, you don't want to do this.  

Except the image of Willow disappearing with Freddie through the throng of the Bronze's Saturday night crowd refused to be ignored, and with an unsteady yank, Tara pulled the door open.

The blast of air from the air conditioning took her breath away, expelling it from her lungs with a scalpel-like precision as she slipped inside the inky darkness.  It's not wrong, she rationalized as she felt her way down the hall.  I'm just going to look around a bit.  I'm not going to steal anything.  I just want to see what kind of aura Stella left behind.

Thankfully, the dressing room door wasn't locked, and Tara eased her way inside, waiting until it was closed behind her before turning on the overhead light.  The scent was the first thing she noticed, an earthy musk she hadn't perceived the previous night but which undoubtedly had belonged to the singer.  Inhaling deeply, the witch's eyes fluttered shut as she concentrated, stretching out her neophyte senses to try and decipher the enigma of Stella.  Come out, come out, wherever you are, she chanted.  I know you're here.  Everybody's got a secret and something tells me yours is a whopper.

It was faint at first, a mere whisper across her tongue, but as she focused, it grew stronger, like a small light at the end of a very long tunnel nearing as she approached.

Power.  Similar to Willow's, but…not.  Not as strong.  Shaded in that same musk that clung to Stella like a second skin.  And it tasted like blood.

Tara's lids whipped open, the pulse that had finally started to quiet returning to a triumphant staccato.  It wasn't what she was expecting to find, not in the slightest, and just the memory of the coppery fire coursing down her throat was enough to drive her stumbling back against the door, to send her shaking hand fumbling for the knob.  Out, out, gotta get out.

And her feet couldn't move fast enough, flying her down the corridor toward the exit, her skirt tangling around her legs in a vicious frenzy, almost tripping her just as she reached the door.  Why don't I wear pants more often? she thought crazily as she fell outside, the afternoon sunshine slamming into her body as her temperature jumped back up another thirty degrees, the sweat leaping to the surface of her skin.  Must remember for future Scooby adventures.  Skirts only work if you're named Daphne or Velma.  Or Buffy.  She could do anything; it didn't make a difference what she was wearing.

*************

She was naked on the other side of that damn door and the thought of all that Slayer skin, glistening under the water, tawny muscles stretching as she lifted her arms above her head to rinse her hair, had given Spike an erection that made sleeping impossible.

He'd been lying when he'd made the comment about her scent, but the heat of the moment had made him lash out at the nearest available target, focusing his venom on her vanity, knowing that it would send her scurrying to her defenses more effectively than if he'd taken a swing at her.  He wasn't exactly proud of himself for it.  He'd even debated for a moment about apologizing.  The night had gone so well, the gentle rapport they'd established prior to her falling asleep a cleansing balm to the aggravation that normally wedged between them, only to have everything go sour as soon as that stupid bird had wandered out into the road.

Silently, Spike banged his head against the pillow.  He hadn't been paying enough attention to his driving.  Every breath, every second, had been consumed by Buffy…the musky scent of her skin, combining and cooling with the desert air that permeated the car…the sound of her remembered giggles as those sniglets she kept sharing got sillier and sillier…the one time she'd casually brushed against his hand as they'd both reached for their drinks at the same time…

Outside of that spell Red had done the previous fall, Spike had never seen the Slayer so at ease with herself, or for that matter, so at ease with him.  She seemed relaxed.  Free.  Even with the burden of looking for the witch bearing down on her shoulders, she'd managed to forget for just a little while and just…be.  And it had happened around him.  When was the last time that had happened?  Had it ever?  In the absence of magic, he meant.  Doubtful.  Even memories of seeing her with Finn hadn't colored her so carefree.  There had always been that band of restraint, like she was holding something back, fearful of something inside being unleashed.  Soldier Boy had probably eventually picked up on that and that's what had prompted his leaving.  Spike may not have liked the pillock much, but that didn't mean he thought he completely lacked a brain.  After all, he'd done something right to get Buffy into his bed in the first place.

Seeing that side of Buffy now, though, was doing the last thing inside him Spike had ever expected.  More than anything, it created in him the urge to sustain that momentum, to keep her smiling at whatever cost.  And he wanted to be the reason behind it.

Spike sighed.  What was the point of being the Big Bad if you fell like a feather every time a pretty girl walked into your world?  Well, it was hardly every time, and this most definitely _not just any pretty girl.  And it was so much more than that.  All these thoughts about Buffy, tangling with images of heat, and desire, and if he didn't know better, tenderness.  She was the enemy.  Someone for him to destroy.  __The someone for him to destroy.  He'd already killed two of her kind; what made her so bloody different?_

They may have been Slayers, but they weren't Buffy.  Luminescent.  Infuriating.  Intoxicating.  Fuck.

I should go tell her I didn't mean it, Spike thought, as he sat up on the motel bed.  True to his word, he'd headed straight for the motel, pulling up and making Buffy go in and register them since the sun was blazing overhead.  She'd done so, but then had deserted him to find the room himself while she negotiated with the pimply clerk about using their fax machine.  When she'd returned from the main office, Spike had feigned sleep, listening as she rummaged through her bag, extracting the toiletries she would need for a shower.  A whiff of her shampoo, almost hidden by the musk of her body, had been all that was necessary to remind him of his weakness when it came to her, and he'd remained there in torment, waiting for her to disappear into the bathroom, almost hoping that she wouldn't, that she would want to talk, or better, that she would want to do more than talk.

I'm tellin' her, he decided, and leapt from the bed, crossing to the closed door of the bathroom in three long strides.  Not goin' to come out of this looking like a prat.  Don't want her believing that that's what I really think of her.

His hand had already curled around the knob before he hesitated, staring at the marred cream of the cheap plaster wall as a faint melody filtered through the hollow music of the shower.  The smile to his lips came unprompted, staying him from entering, binding his path so that he could listen to the sounds of Slayer singing drifting to his ears.  Singing was a good sign, right?  Good mood and all.  _He sang in the shower when he was feeling particularly jovial.  Maybe she wasn't pissed anymore.  Maybe the events of the morning were already forgotten.  Forgiven, even.  Well, maybe not forgiven.  That might be askin' a bit much from her.  Baby steps and all. After all, this was Buffy.  The bint who never forgave a vamp for anything.  Unless his name was Angel, of course._

The water stopped then, and Spike realized with a start that she was done with her shower, pulling back and stepping away from the door as the image of her lithe body being toweled dry flashed before him.  Couldn't just walk in now to apologize, he thought.  She might have a few choice punches to throw if he tried to sneak a peek at the Slayer's goods.  For that matter, hovering around outside the door probably isn't going to look good either, he decided, and dashed back to the bed, just barely getting himself stretched out on it when the door opened, a flume of steam wafting into the cooler air of the main room.

When she saw that he was awake, Buffy froze, her hand stilled on the edge of the white towel she'd just finished wrapping around her torso.  Crisp lines of water dripped from her throat, arcing as it reached the uppermost curve of her breast, only to seep into the terry bound around her flesh.  "You're awake," she said unnecessarily, and carefully set her toiletries by the sink.  "That wasn't much of a nap."

"Got stuff on my mind," Spike replied, his tone just as cautious as hers.  As he watched, she turned her back on him to gaze at her reflection in the large mirror, reaching for her comb with a steady hand.  "You feeling better?"

"Showers are definitely my friend," she said.  For once, she was glad that vampires didn't cast reflections, that she could comb her hair without having to see his face.  Her guilt at getting them lost had risen to astronomical proportions and she'd spent most of her shower debating whether she should tell him she was sorry for screwing up.  He was only doing this in the first place because she'd threatened him; in light of everything, he'd been a pretty good sport about the whole fiasco up to the wild turkey incident.  

"Look," she started.

"Slayer," Spike said at the same time.

They both stopped, Buffy blushing while the vampire ducked his head in embarrassment.  "You first," he offered with a casual wave of his hand.

The faintest of tremors settled in the Slayer's stomach as she fought for casual, desperate to sound like the fact that she knew he was watching her, could feel his eyes boring into her back, wasn't affecting her in the slightest.  Somehow, she had a feeling that whatever kind of apology came out of her mouth was only going to be met with his usual derision, and the flood of dismay that spread through her veins burned her in surprise.  What did she care what he thought?  Except…she did.  He'd been trying, and she'd been a bitch, and now was the time for her to just swallow her pride and take being treated like one like a big girl.

"I never told you thank you for the fan," she said, averting her eyes from the mirror so that he couldn't see them, concentrating instead on putting her things back into her toiletries bag.  "So…thank you.  It was…nice."

It wasn't what he was expecting.  The only other thing that might've surprised Spike more at the moment was if she had come out and apologized for being such a pain earlier, or taken full responsibility for them being in their current situation.  Still, gratitude was not part of the Slayer repertoire, at least not gratitude to him for _anything.  They had a cash and carry relationship.  Or, they _had_ prior to this little jaunt.  _

The hope that that was a death knell he was hearing for their previous status softened his gaze, tilting his head as he surveyed her measured nonchalance.  Take it easy, he reminded himself.  Don't be saying anything to bugger this little truce up.  "Least I could do, considering I don't have to be the one to worry about overheating," Spike said.  He paused.  It wasn't enough.  He had to tell her, had to let her know that the words had meant nothing to him, that nothing could've been farther from the truth.

"Which wasn't a problem, by the way," he added.  "It was just me…spouting off.  I shouldn't have…I didn't…"  A frustrated hand ran through his hair, pulling at the curls that had loosened as he'd tried to rest.  Why was this so hard?  "I don't think it's possible for you to ever look or smell bad, Slayer.  Would go against the order of the universe or something if that happened."

He heard her sharp intake of breath, his words sucking it out of her as her head jerked up, those clear, hazel eyes widening as they searched fruitlessly the reflection of the bed before turning to look at the vampire the mirror refused to divulge.  That was a compliment…coming from Spike?  He didn't do that sort of thing; in fact, his voice was usually the loudest in bursting any bubble she might have about herself. Yet there he sat, eyes fixed on her face in a curious contemplation, and all of a sudden, her body didn't seem to be her own.

Under her skin, Buffy felt a flutter electrifying her nerves as flashes from her shower overwhelmed her inner eye.  It didn't make sense, this reaction to something she'd only fantasized about---and she had to be honest with herself on this at least; ever since that stupid spell of Willow's, there had been more than one fantasy or dream about the chipped vamp plaguing her consciousness---nor did this urge to peel the towel away from her body to see how he would react.  Stop it, she scolded herself.  Vampire, slayer.  That's your relationship.  Working only.  Absolutely nothing else.

And you better say something soon because he's starting to make that little frowning face he does when he doesn't get what's going on.  And how is it you're now categorizing the different faces he makes?

"I need to get dressed," Buffy mumbled, crossing the room to the bag she'd slung over the chair, grabbing a clean pair of shorts and shirt from its interior as she deliberately kept herself from looking at him.

The mood was shattered, the tension that had been stretching between the two blonds released to jangle achingly back into each of their bodies, and Spike slumped against the headboard.  "Right," he said.  "Because you're…not."  Shit, that sounded stupid even to him and he rolled his eyes, grateful that she had her back to him and couldn't see what an absolute git he was being.

She stole a glance to the vampire on the bed.  "Aren't you going to change?" she asked.  "You've still got dried turkey blood all over your jeans."

He shrugged.  "'S'not so bad," he said, his fingers straying to the stains on the denim, picking at the drying flakes so that they crumbled to the blanket.

"Ewww, you're going to have to sleep on that, you know."

"I think my sleep's just about done for the day.  I was goin' to suggest we pack it up and hit the road again."  He grinned.  "We've got us a witch to catch."

For a long moment, she stood and stared at him, her clothes forgotten in her hands.  He was burying the hatchet, and she didn't know why, could only see a return of the man who'd shared the first half of the night with her.  Buffy's breath caught as her head danced around the description she'd just afforded Spike.  Not a man, she hastily reminded herself.  Demon.  Vampire.  Not a man.  Spike.  But still…not quite Spike, or at the very least, not quite the Spike she thought she knew.

"Do you think that bar serves food?" she asked, finally finding her voice again.

Spike frowned.  "I hadn't really thought about it, but I s'pose they do.  Most places like that do some sort of what they consider edibles."  His head tilted in confusion.  "Why're you askin'?"

"I thought…it's just, my stomach's starting to do its best thunder impersonation here and I thought we could get a real meal before we get back on the road.  Not that the potato chips and Kit Kats you bought last night aren't good, but---."

"Think they'd have buffalo wings?"

She almost laughed out loud at the hopeful look on his face.  "Only one way for us to find out," Buffy replied.

*************

After stepping in from the brilliant desert sunshine, Buffy had to blink more than once to let her eyes adjust to the dark interior of the bar, waiting just inside the door as Spike came rushing in behind her, his smoking duster thrown over his hunched shoulders to shield him from the deadly rays outside.  Once her vision was adjusted, however, she realized that she distinctly felt like she'd walked in on something straight out of the movies.

Everything about the place was immaculate, from the polished wooden floor, to the heavy tables scattered throughout the room, to the long mirror behind the bar itself.  A variety of road signs were bolted to the dark walls, with framed photographs interspersed throughout, inviting patrons to step forward and see just who had left their John Hancock for the world to witness.  From the jukebox in the corner, the voice of a country singer pining after a first love who had cheated on him filled the smoke-filled space, while the smell of hamburgers hung heavily in the air.  

Buffy's stomach rumbled at the aroma, and next to her, Spike laughed.  "Guess that answers your question about the grub," he said, hooking his thumb through a belt loop as he scanned the various occupants of the room.  He had taken the time to change his jeans, but though he was wearing denim and boots like most of the other patrons, it was there that the similarity ended, his attitude and bleached hair setting him even more apart than when he was in Sunnydale.  This was going to be interesting.

"Have to admit to feeling a bit peckish myself, now that we're here," Spike went on, nodding toward a table near the pool table in the back.  "Go park yourself while I place us an order."

She frowned.  "I can order for myself," she complained.  "And bossing me around?  Not the best way to keep me in a good mood."

A raised eyebrow accompanied his pointed scan of her form.  "About the ordering, Slayer.  You're in a bar, in the middle of nowhere, and you're not legal.  They may balk at serving you even if all you're after is food."  His blue eyes gleamed.  "And as for the bossing…"  He glanced around at the grizzled faces staring at them over their beer mugs, the looks on the all male countenances a jumble of distrust, suspicion, and outright leering at the young woman, and leaned in toward her, dropping his mouth so that it hovered just over her ear.  "I'm goin' to wager these blokes are a tad low on the evolutionary scale, pet, so unless you want it to look like a tender little thing such as yourself is footloose and fancy-free to enjoy their sort of attentions, I suggest we play this my way.  Understand?"

Her mouth was open to argue with him, ready to tell him just where he could shove his own Neanderthal thinking, when she caught the gaze of a tall young man draped over a chair nearby.  He was grinning, calloused fingers playing with the longneck bottle of beer in front of him, and as she watched, made an elaborate show of licking his lips, exposing the gap where two of his front teeth should've been.  Without thinking, Buffy slid her arm through Spike's, pressing herself into his side in a desperate attempt to make it look like she was already with someone, and almost sighed in relief when her would-be admirer scowled at the rebuff.

"But you never get what I want," she said in a voice that was just a little too loud, affecting what she hoped was a look of pouty dismay as she addressed the vamp.

His head cocked at her game, a twinkle lighting in the blue depths.  Oh yeah, he thought.  This most definitely just got _very interesting._

"Fine," he said in pretended exasperation, and grasped her hand, pulling her up to the bar.  He gestured with his head to the elderly man waiting behind the counter.  "Tell the nice man what you want then, luv, since you seem to think I'll bugger it up."

Buffy flashed the bartender her brightest smile.  "Could I have a hamburger please?" she said sweetly, almost cringing from the falseness in her voice.  "And a diet coke?"

"Make that two, only I want mine still bleedin'," Spike added.  All of a sudden, he was behind her, arms on either side of her body as his hands propped himself up against the bar, his body pressing lightly into her back as his mouth dipped to her ear.  "See, you've gotta trust me more, pet.  That was _exactly what I would've ordered for you."  His chuckle was low, and an icy shiver ran down Buffy's spine as she felt him turn his head to look back at the bartender, his cheek just barely gracing hers.  "You'd think she'd have sussed it out by now that I know what it takes to make her happy," he tossed off to the other man, and threw in a, "Bloody women," for good measure._

For the first time since they'd walked through the door, the bartender smiled, nodding his head in agreement.  "Won't take me but a minute to get your food up," he said, and nodded toward the empty tables.  "Why don't you and your little lady have a seat there, and I'll bring it out to you when it's done."

Straightening, Spike gave a cursory glance at the bar before grabbing Buffy's hand.  "We'll be at the pool table," he informed the bartender, and led the surprised young blonde away.

She pulled away as soon as they'd reached the semi-private nook the pool table was situated in.  For a second there, it had gotten just a little too real, the slow caress of his thumb over the heel of her hand as he held it causing her pulse to skyrocket, the goosebumps to raise over her flesh in a mockery of desire.  What the hell is going on here? she thought as she casually picked up a cue stick, watching him out of the corner of his eye as he shrugged out of his jacket, the muscles in his arms flexing just ever so slightly.  Why am I reacting like this to _Spike, of all people?  It must be a rebound thing, or maybe a heat thing, or a worried-about-Willow-and-desperate-to-be-distracted thing._

"You wanna break?"

She almost dropped the cue at the sound of his voice, jerking to step away from the table as she looked to see him watching her.  "You go ahead," Buffy managed to get out, and then smiled in spite of herself.  "You're going to need every advantage you can get.  I plan on wiping the table with you."

His answering grin was wicked, the sapphire of his eyes not leaving hers as he leaned over to take his first shot.  "Don't forget, Slayer," he said, and glanced away just long enough to send the white ball careening down the felt, slamming into the balls at the other end of the table with a crackle that cleaved the air.  Blue flickered back up to green as he straightened.  "I've got a century's worth of experience on you at this particular game.  I don't plan on losin' either."

*************

Her foot tapped noiselessly in the air as she flicked through the magazine, unable to resist sneaking another look at her watch.  Xander was late.  Damn him.  Probably stopped to get some donuts to take over to Giles' for the research party tonight.  Like he couldn't have done that once he'd rescued her from this place.

Anya cringed as she heard a distant crash from upstairs, followed closely by a muffled shout, and wondered for the seventh time since arriving why exactly she'd agreed to meet the young man at his place instead of making him pick her up at hers.  Correction, she thought.  His parents' place.  His _drunken_ parents' place.  On the day after payday.  What a joy.

With a frustrated moan, the young woman tossed the magazine aside, rising to her feet.  I'll leave him a note, she decided, and marched over to what he referred to as his desk, scrambling through the mess atop it in search of a pencil.  I'll go over to Giles' on my own and he can just meet me there.  I don't need to wait around like some lovesick puppy who can't---.

The loud clap caused her to knock over the stack of comic books on the desk corner, and Anya whirled to see the bright light already starting to fade, her initial shock fading into a delighted surprise as the shape of a dark-haired woman standing in the room took form.  "Halfrek!" she cried, forgetting completely about the note she'd been about to leave to rush forward to greet the new arrival.

The demon's smile was warm.  "Anyanka," she said, giving the smaller girl a brief hug.  "It's been too long."

"I haven't seen you since I lost my necklace," Anya said, pulling away.

"You know me.  Busy, busy, busy."  Her wide gaze scanned the dank space, her smile fading.  "Isn't this…interesting," she commented, and then grimaced, sniffing pointedly at the air.  "Is that…bleach I smell?"

Anya flushed in embarrassment.  "It's whites day."

Halfrek shook her head in disappointment.  "Oh, Anyanka, it does hurt to see you've sunk so low.  Mortal, and living underground like some common rat, without any powers, and now this mess…"

She was about to voice her usual protestations about her current life when Halfrek's last words sunk in, making her frown.  "What mess?" she asked.

"The reason I'm here.  I really must be quick because D'Hoffryn will absolutely _kill_ me if he finds out I've come to warn you, but I just couldn't let my oldest and dearest friend get herself embroiled in something like this without at least giving you a heads up on it.  'Anyanka's a big girl,' he'd say.  'She's made her bed and now she's going to have to lie in---.'"

"The mess, Halfrek," Anya prompted.  "What is it you want to warn me about?"

"Why, the mess your new friends are getting themselves into," she replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.  "You _are_ associating with the _Slayer_ now, right?"  She didn't even wait for a nod, but just kept on talking.  "Between her and those greenhorns messing with powers they just don't understand, things are going to start getting _very _uncomfortable around here, mark my words.  Well, not around _here _per se, more like around New Orleans, but still, uncomfortable nonetheless.  And all I have to say to you, Anyanka, is stay out of it.  Run as fast as you can in the other direction because you do not want to be around when it all hits the fan…"

To be continued in Chapter 5: Get Up with It…


	5. Get Up with It

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.  And the chapter titles are courtesy of Miles Davis.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Halfrek has visited Anya to try and dissuade her from getting involved in some approaching problems for the Slayer, while Buffy and Spike have stopped for a break at a hotel and bar after getting slightly off-track…

*************

Each laugh was like a live battery pressed against the knobs of his spine, at once both suffusing his body in an ever-increasing requiescence and charging his skin so that it tingled in her presence.  Though he had no easy explanation for her current amicable state, Spike wasn't about to let it go, joining Buffy in their muted jokes about the bar's clientele, sharing a few of his own encounters with colorful locals over the years, watching as each of his stories seemed to start a new fit of giggles in the petite blonde.

What surprised him was how much he was actually enjoying the Slayer's presence.  For too many years, he'd only ever been on the acid side of her tongue, the target of well-timed quips and constant threats.  Now, she seemed determined to share with him the part of her that the rest of the world got to see---smiling, joking Buffy with more than a touch of vulnerable sexiness underlying the steely exterior.  It was the mood that had pervaded the car the previous evening but heightened, like a bar had suddenly been lowered to allow him a means to vault to her side.  The cause of it escaped him.  Spike only knew that the faint flush that now rose in her cheeks seemed to taunt his own skin to respond in kind, and he was constantly having to fight the urge to reach out and touch her.  All of a sudden, Buffy actually seemed accessible.

He watched as she wiped up the last of her ketchup with one of her remaining fries, lifting it to her mouth as she continued to share her current slay story, only to have a spattering of red drip down her chin as her words interfered with her eating.  Spike's lips quirked.  "Got a hole in your lip, luv?"

Her flush deepened.  "It's all drippy," she offered as explanation, and futilely wiped at her face, trying to catch what mess she had made with the heel of her hand.  The last thing she currently wanted was to destroy the camaraderie that had sprung up between them.  Spike was acting like a normal person and not the sarcastic bastard she knew from firsthand experience he was capable of being; she'd actually been enjoying herself ever since they'd starting shooting pool and he had deliberately let her win.  He probably didn't even realize that she knew, but Buffy had seen him check his cue more than once, allowing the occasional shot to veer wide, so that when the arrival of their food had put a halt to the playing, the Slayer had been marginally ahead, allowing her to tease him about losing to a girl.  She wasn't going to let on that she could see through his act, though; somehow, she had a feeling that the pretense actually meant something to the chipped vamp.

The flick of his thumb across her chin caused her to freeze, and Buffy's eyes widened at the contact of his cool skin against hers, watching as he slowly leaned back in his chair and held up his hand to show her the ketchup trail that now streaked across his thumb.  

"Missed a bit," he said, before lifting it to his mouth and sucking at the pad, blue eyes suddenly darkened.

"Oh," was all she managed to get out.  She didn't know what in hell had just happened, but it seemed like the most natural thing in the world.  What _wasn't_ the most natural thing was the sudden racing of her heartbeat as she became too aware of her chin and the spot where his fingers had graced it.  Then, to see him put those same fingers in his mouth, a mouth that she couldn't seem to stop staring at now, was, without a doubt, the most erotic thing Buffy had ever seen.  Erotic and Spike.  Two words she was now going to have some serious problems dissociating from the other.

He didn't seem to notice her discomfiture.  "Seein' as how you've managed to inhale half a cow there," he said, gracefully rising to his feet, "I'm goin' to say we better pack it in and get ourselves back on the road.  We're going to have to make up for our little detour here if we want to stay on Red's tail."

Buffy nodded, grateful for the reversion to their reason for being together in the first place.  Back to business, she thought.  No more pretending that Spike is anything but an annoying demon chauffeur.  But the prospect didn't exactly fill her with light and sparklies.  Instead, she felt an uncommon pit begin to burrow into her stomach and looked away from the vampire, focusing on the few fries left on her plate.  Crap, she thought.  When did I start giving a damn _how I viewed Spike?_

His head tilted as he scrutinized the Slayer's suddenly serious face.  He'd felt her reaction to his touch; hell, _his_ body had done its own version of the Macarena on the inside at the taste of her skin mingling with the ketchup on his tongue.  What he didn't get was why it was bugging her.  Normally, she let that kind of thing slide, or squelched it in the face of some wisecrack.  This wasn't normal.  This was…well, he didn't know what the hell this was.  He just knew he didn't want it to go away.

"I'm goin' to have a word with the bartender," he said.  "See if he knows a quicker way of getting back to where we want."  He smiled as she lifted her eyes in surprise.  "Plus, maybe he can tell me where to get us a bigger atlas," Spike teased.  "Maybe if the roads are bigger on the map, you won't have such a problem keeping us on 'em."

She laughed in spite of his slight gibe.  "I think bigger is of the good," Buffy said lightly, and watched as he turned on his heel to disappear to the front of the bar.  Maybe they were finally past the nastiness of their morning, she thought.  Maybe the rest of this trip might not be so bad after all.

"Didn't think he'd hardly ever leave."

Her eyes re-focused to see the lanky frame of the man who'd been ogling her at the door standing before the table, a wide grin splitting his face.  It was all she could do not to stare at the gaping holes in his dental work and instead, decided to return her attention to her fries.  "He'll be back," she said, hoping that would be enough to send him away.

It wasn't.  "So what's a pretty little thing like you doing hanging around with a scary guy like that?" he said, draping himself over the chair Spike had just vacated.

She rolled her eyes.  "Is there some kind of correspondence course guys take to learn really bad pick-up lines?" she asked, her voice cold, her eyes even colder.  "Because if you think that was supposed to impress me---."

"My name's Dave," he said, ignoring her attempt to rebuff him.  His smile widened.  "My friends call me Fang.  Y'know, 'cause of the teeth."

"Really."  This time she looked up, hazel shooting daggers.  "I would never have guessed."

"What's your name?  Probably something pretty, like Barbie or Lara or something.  There used to be a waitress in here, her name was Bobbie Sue.  I always thought she was the most gorgeous thing I'd ever seen until you walked in."

He didn't seem to be getting the message.  Time to up the malice and hope he'd take the hint.  "You don't get out much, do you?" she said, affecting the bitchiest tone she could manage.  That's right, Buffy thought.  Let's channel my inner Cordelia.  Isn't this fun.  "Do they not have special hours or something at the home where they let you get out into the real world for more than a few minutes at a time?"

He laughed as if her mockery wasn't intentionally mean-spirited.  "You're funny.  Funny and pretty.  My favorite combination.  Right next to hot and horny, of course."  The last was said with a suggestive leer, and he leaned forward onto the table to close the distance between them.

Buffy's jaw dropped at his audacity.  He had _not just said that out loud to her, had he?  Had she really been out of the dating loop that long?  Guys couldn't actually talk like this to try and impress girls, she thought.  It has to be a local thing.  Or a stupid thing.  Or maybe both.  Seeing the current look on her would-be beau, she was going to put her money on both._

So wrapped in her shock, she didn't even see Spike walk up until his pale hand had clapped down onto Fang's shoulder.  "Looks like I'm missing a party here," he said lightly, but the flexing of the muscles in his jaw spoke otherwise.  He'd missed the other man sneaking his way to the back of the bar, but when he'd caught the acidic tone of Buffy's voice floating to the front, he'd immediately broken off from his conversation with the bartender to return to their table.  The flash of anger at seeing the git now in his seat had boiled from nowhere, and Spike was doing everything in his power not to tear the wanker's head from his shoulders right then and there.

"It's a _private_ party," Fang said, not bothering to look back or rise from his chair.

The vampire's grip said otherwise as it tightened just enough to lift the man without hurting him.  "Something tells me Buffy here wouldn't mind if I crashed."  As he let Fang gain his footing, Spike stepped around to stand behind the Slayer's chair, his hand dropping possessively to reach for hers.  "C'mon, pet," he said, his palm facing up in waiting as his blue eyes never left the other man's face.  "The road's callin' us."

She didn't even hesitate to slip her hand into his, standing to square off with her unwanted guest defiantly.  "Maybe you should go give Bobbie Sue a ring," she started to say to him, only to cut herself off when the sudden caress of Spike's thumb across the line of her wrist caused her to jerk her head and stare up at the vamp briefly in confusion, the line between the act she was sure he was putting on and reality blurring momentarily.  Probably just an automatic thing, she reasoned, tearing her gaze away from his unsuspecting face.  No big deal.

"You know you're not fooling anybody."  His beady eyes glittered as he shook his head, his tongue snaking out between the gap in his teeth to lick his lips.  "There's no way he's your boyfriend."

"Really?  What makes you say that, mate?"

Though his tone was light, Buffy could feel the tension coiling through Spike's body as he spoke, his fingers hardening within hers.  

"Well, first off, 'cause she's better than you.  I mean, have you looked at…"  He glanced at the young woman.  "…he said your name was Buffy, right?"  He didn't bother waiting for a response before turning back to Spike.  "Have you actually _looked_ at Buffy?  The girl's hotter and classier than you.  Try looking in a mirror some time, bub.  The eighties are over."

Spike's smile was deadly.  "Not really into the whole self-reflection thing myself.  But then, I'd guess neither are you."  He made a point of running his tongue over his incisors, his gaze mocking, the sucking sound he made with his teeth reverberating in friction between the trio. 

Fang straightened himself to his full height, lifting his chin to make the six inches he had on the vampire look like even more.  "Don't you be thinking I'm scared of you, runt," he threatened.  "Just because you wear leather, don't make you some kind of a tough guy."

"I'll wager my bite's a tad more lethal than you might think," Spike growled, his amusement at the situation vanishing.  He'd taken a step automatically forward when Buffy's arm clamped around his bicep.

"Hey."  She waited for him to glance back at her and saw the anger gleaming in the blue depths of his eyes, shoving aside the question of where it was stemming from for asking at a later date.  "Much as I like a good brawl, are we forgetting something here?"  She waited but was only met by his blank stare.  "Hello?  Can we say chip?  Or are we totally forgetting about Sunnydale?"

Fang frowned.  "Chip?  Who's Chip?  Thought your name was Spike."

Her mind whirled.  How was she going to explain it?  Wait, he'd said _who_… "My boyfriend," she replied.  At both his and Spike's frowning gazes, Buffy rushed forth to clarify, "_Ex-boyfriend.  Ex.  As in before Spike."_

"Yeah," the vampire drawled, catching her drift with an amused glint.  "Good ol' Chips Ahoy."  His blond head swiveled back to stare dangerously at the other man.  "That's what I called him after I crushed his thick skull into cookie bits."

The air was heavy between them as Fang visibly paled, uncertainty clouding his eyes for the first time since Spike's arrival.  It took only a moment for Buffy to break it, giggling far too nervously to make it appear natural as she curled her arm through the vampire's.

"Spike's such a kidder," she said lightly, and squeezed his arm, making it look affectionate but exerting her strength just enough so that he winced slightly at the contact.  "He didn't kill Chip.  He just…roughed him up a bit."  She leaned her head possessively against his shoulder, playing the smitten girlfriend role for all it was worth.  "Of course, now Chip thinks he used to be part of some secret government militia out to rid the world of monsters, but hey.  At least, he's not dead."

Her smile was bright, and it was all Spike could do not to laugh out loud.  Atta girl, Slayer, he thought, and relished in her weight against his arm, his nostrils flaring as her excited scent drifted to his nose.  

Fang still looked unsure, small eyes darting between the blond pair as his tongue flicked across his bare gums.  "Still," he said after a long moment.  "You can't tell me he's your boyfriend.  I mean, look at him!  He's wearing nail polish like some girl.  If that's not a gay thing, than I don't know what is."

Her voice was hard.  "Some of my best friends are gay, I'll have you know."

"And so's your boyfriend, sweetie.  Time to wake up and smell the lack of testosterone."

Spike's head tilted.  "For someone with so many holes in his mouth, you talk an awful lot, you stupid pillock."  Turning just enough to gaze down at her hazel eyes, the words came tumbling out of the vampire's mouth before he could stop them.  "I do believe he's challenging my manhood, pet.  Now, can't have that, can I?"

Ask him after why he did it, and Spike would've been at a loss for a good answer.  Maybe it was the nonverbal dare issued by the other man.  Maybe it was because he got caught up in their little act and forgot himself for a moment.  Or maybe it was just because she smelled so bloody good.  Whatever it was, it sent Spike's lips crashing against Buffy's, his hands tangling in the tresses of her hair as he pulled her against him, seeking out the recesses of her surprised mouth with the thrust of months of pent-up desire.

Instinct should've pulled her away.  Instinct should've reared its ugly head and screamed in her ear about how wrong it was to have this particular vampire's lips on hers.  Instead, instinct drove her arms up and around his neck, pulling him even closer, pressing her tiny form against his so that the hardened buds of her nipples ground into his chest in delicious shivers, locking their bodies together in a heated dance that brooked no movement, denied no lingering passion.

His initial surprise vanished in the wake of feeling her against him, the tattoo of her heart pounding against his chest, and Spike deepened the kiss, tasting and savoring the nectar of the Slayer's mouth as he forgot exactly why he'd done this in the first place.  Heady, and so much richer than he'd ever imagined, the world swept away as he lost himself in the caress, drowning in red and black as tiny hands kneaded at the muscles of his neck.

Her breathing was ragged when she finally pulled away, the hazel of her eyes overwhelmed by ebony as she fixated on the tremulous lower lip that had just been affixed to hers.  Not what she'd been expecting, and yet, so much more, and how in hell was she supposed to look Spike in the eye after this?  He was going to be Mr. Gloaty from now on, she could just tell, digging into her at every chance about kissing the Big Bad, letting him get to her when all he'd been doing was trying to prove a point to…

It was then that she remembered their audience, and turned her head to see a shocked Fang slowly inching his way away from their table.  Spike's arms dropped to pull her into his side, his cheek lowering to nuzzle the top of her head, and Buffy found herself powerless to stop him.  How could she?  For the first time in months, she was actually feeling _right_ in a man's arms.  Like she belonged.

"Care to rethink that little assessment of yours?" the vampire said with a chuckle.  "Or are you goin' to need something a bit more graphic?"  His hand slid down Buffy's spine, ending at the small of her back to toy with the waistband of her shorts in a sensual play of his fingers.

Her intake of breath was audible, but Buffy didn't move, instead allowing Spike to continue his gentle exploration as she waited for Fang to respond.  It didn't take him long.

"No, no, I got eyes.  I think she's crazy, but I'm not stupid."  His backward step caused him to stumble slightly as he bumped into a wooden post.  "You ever want someone who'll treat you right," he said to Buffy, "you know where I'll be."

She couldn't help her amused smile.  "Thanks, but I think I'm all set here."  Grabbing the vampire's hand from its nest in her back, she began pulling him toward the front of the bar, grabbing his duster from the chair as she passed it.  "C'mon, Spike.  Let's get out of here."

*************

They didn't speak until they were settled into the front seat of the DeSoto, the atmosphere stiflingly hot, the tiny purple fan only succeeding in moving around the scorching air in pockets of swirling motes.  Buffy's body still thrummed in the memory of the kiss they'd shared inside, the fiery ice of his lips on hers lending itself to fantasies of more, and she had to visibly shake herself to clear her head.

"Not a bad little act, Slayer," Spike drawled as he slid the key into the ignition.  Pre-emptive strike, that's what he'd decided.  As deeply as the kiss had rattled him, as surprising as her response to it had been, he couldn't even begin to think that it was in any way an indication of anything remotely real.  He'd just chalk it up to his inherent sexual prowess; it was much easier to focus on the superficial than to consider it might be deeper.  Even if a part of him was actually wishing it was.  Or that she would argue with him about its meaning.

She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting him to say, but an avowal for her supposed ability to pretend was certainly not it.  A small line appeared between her brows as her eyes darkened, searching the impassivity of his profile for some hint of what he was playing at.  He thought she'd been faking that?  Was he high or something?  But then, why would he think otherwise?  It wasn't like he was privy to her dreams, or the fantasies that popped up out of nowhere, or the stray thought that flitted across her head in search of something to light upon.  No, Spike had no reason to believe that she'd kissed him back because she'd wanted to, that even now, she was wondering how she could get him to do it again, and mentally kicking herself for her own foolishness.  And it looked for all intents and purposes that he wanted to keep it that way.

"Yeah," she agreed, but there was no strength in it.  "I guess we showed Fangface."

She was an awful liar, and Spike of all people was the most skilled at seeing through her, but at that moment in time, the vampire didn't dare to admit what was staring him in the face.  Instead, he shot her a wry smirk and tossed the atlas that sat between them onto her lap.  "Find where this road hits something called Carter's Creek," he instructed.  "According to the bartender, we can cut our way down back to the highway without losin' too much more time."

It was back to business as he pulled the car away from the bar and onto the concrete, the blazing sun at their backs as he accelerated down the gray strip.  They had a job to do, a focus.  Find Willow.  Get to her before anything bad happened.  It wasn't the time for thinking about personal stuff, or kisses that left both of them craving for more, or niggling doubts in two minds about who exactly was seated beside them.  Not the time for questioning everything that had up to this point seemed so black and white.  And not the time for contemplating bending and even breaking all the rules that they had thus far established.

Except it wasn't working for either of them.

They sat in an awkward but pungent silence, hurtling down the road toward their task at hand, each lost in a perplexing eddy of emotion, unable to look at the other, pretending for the moment that all was back to normal.

When both of them believed that was impossible.

And fought with the fear the other would somehow eventually find that out.

*************

Though she had been silent for nearly the entire time between Xander arriving home and going over to Giles', sitting now on the Watcher's couch, Anya's mouth was twitching with the intense desire to speak, even if it was only to shout at them and call them a bunch of foolish humans looking for a death wish by even remotely getting themselves involved in this current predicament.  Except she couldn't, not any more, and that fact more than anything else riled her stomach in acid, jittering her heel against the floor as the nervous energy trapped inside her body fought to escape.

"So why are we even still here?" Xander was saying, pacing in front of her like a caged animal desperate to escape.  "If what that gas station guy says is true, we need to mount up.  Sticking around Sunnydale isn't helping getting Willow back."

"We have no idea what the symbol even signifies," Giles said, rubbing tiredly at his eyes.  They'd been having this argument for over twenty minutes now and he was growing weary of repeating himself.  Holding up Buffy's fax, he added, "Unless you would care to impart your seemingly vast knowledge of mystical tattoos and tell us exactly what this means, Xander."  He waited expectantly, and sighed when the younger man finally collapsed defeatedly into the chair.  "I understand your frustration, but without information that will aid Buffy and Spike, our best plan is to just stay here and do the research to find answers that will bring Willow back."

"Yes," Anya finally said.  "I agree with Giles.  Stay here.  Good plan."

The Englishman frowned.  Anya _never_ agreed with him.  Still, an ally was an ally.  "If you'd rather be doing something more productive than research," he continued, "perhaps you'd like to go out and speak to the attendant.  It's possible he might remember other details that he didn't share with Spike."

Rising from his seat, Xander crossed to Giles' side and took the fax.  "Hey, I know this guy.  He graduated with us."

"He was working a midnight shift.  You'll most likely have to wait until later to attempt to see him."

"That's even if he's working tonight," Anya interjected.  Now that she'd broken her silence, she was finding it difficult to keep quiet.  "This _is_ the Hellmouth, after all.  Odds are pretty good that he's become somebody's dinner.  Or is actually eating someone else at this exact minute.  You're most likely just wasting your time, you know."

His girlfriend's odd argument caused Xander's frown to deepen.  "What's with the negative attitude, Ahn?" he asked.  "You've been all doom and gloom, what with the mopey silence on the ride over and now preaching demon destruction as if it's the end of the world.  What's up?"

She was saved from answering by a timid knock at the door, and Anya exhaled in relief as Giles rose to open it.  Halfrek's details had been sketchy before she'd been called away on a vengeance emergency, but it was enough to convince the ex-demon that something very bad was on the horizon, and she wasn't sure she had the fortitude to stick around for it.  She only wished she had the nerve to actually say something out loud to her boyfriend.

A shaky Tara stood on the other side of the door, her eyes lowered as she shyly accepted Giles' offer to enter.  Her wave of greeting was contained, and she settled onto the far end of the couch, waiting for whatever instruction the others would offer.

"So, off to the gas station then?" Anya chirped, opting instead to distract Xander with the task he'd latched onto, hoping against hope that he wouldn't press on the issue of her mood.  It could be worse, she reasoned.  She could be on her way to New Orleans like Buffy and Spike.  The one thing she'd gleaned from Halfrek's ramblings was that whatever bad that was going to happen, was going to go down in the Southern city, far away from Sunnydale.  Maybe all she had to do was stay put.  And make sure Xander did, as well.  That way, at least the two people she cared about most would be safe.

"Off to the gas station then."  Handing the fax back to Giles, the young man was halfway to the door, Anya right on his heels, before he spoke again.  "I'll call you and let you know what happens," he said, and disappeared into the waning sunlight.

"Gas station?" Tara queried when they were gone, confusion in her eyes as she gazed up at the Watcher.

"Yes.  We believe we may have a lead of some sort."  Distractedly, he handed her the paper, glancing at his bookshelves as his eyes narrowed.  "I've got a number of texts I think would---."

"Stella has some kind of power."  Her voice was almost a whisper, echoing inside the living room like a ghost's song, and her wide eyes were glued to the figure drawn on the fax.  It was only when Giles turned to look at her that she raised her gaze.  "Just like Willow.  There's something…that…links them."

"How do you know this?"

"I went to the Bronze."  So quiet, like the words hurt to even say.  "I w-w-wanted to see if maybe Stella left something behind."

"And…?"

Tara swallowed.  "Her dressing room tasted like…blood.  Like it was…old.  And very, very evil."

Gently, Giles knelt before the blonde witch, blue eyes scanning her pinched face.  They were really only beginning to discover her capabilities, and though Willow's support of her girlfriend had often bordered on the fanatical, he had yet to witness much of her power on his own.  "What happened?" he queried, maintaining his mild tone. 

She shook her head.  "I ran.  It was…overwhelming.  It was so much like Willow, but…darker.  And…"  Her voice faltered, the words finally disappearing from her grasp, and her eyes ducked again to fix on the hands worrying in her lap.

His touch was light, but reassuring on her shoulder.  "She's going to be safe," he affirmed, the sudden need to ease her distress overwhelming.  "Buffy will make sure of that."

She nodded, and though she rose to follow him dutifully to the bookcase, ready to begin on the research he felt would solve all their problems, Tara held back the doubt that had wrapped itself around her heart ever since she'd left the Bronze.  Giles hadn't felt the residual power Stella had left behind like a fading perfume; he had no idea how anguished it cried out to her.  She didn't want to think of the worst, but that was the way of her life.

Good things didn't happen to Tara Maclay.  Not for any length of time.  Something always happened to take it all away.

And Willow was the best thing that had ever happened to her.

Which meant that this time…it would rip out her heart when she lost it.

*************

His eyes were expectant as he gazed down at the dark-haired demon.  "Well?" he queried, fingers tapping together as he waited.

Halfrek sighed.  "It's done.  I did exactly like you said.  I told Anyanka just enough and then I pretended to have an emergency and skedaddled myself on out of there before she started pressing too hard."

D'Hoffryn's smile settled in satisfaction.  "Excellent work," he mused.  "I'm trusting you were adequately persuasive."

He wasn't really expecting a response, which was good for Halfrek as the memory of her former friend's face flickered across her mind's eye.  Maybe she had been, maybe she hadn't.  Either way, she didn't like it.  Interfering in Anyanka's mortal life made her slightly queasy after all the time they'd spent wreaking vengeance together.  If the young woman chose to accept the advice and stay out of the conflagration that was already starting to burn in New Orleans, it still did not mean that the Slayer would fail to stop what D'Hoffryn considered inevitable.  On the other hand, if she _did go to her new friends with the knowledge she now possessed, odds were good that the ex-demon would get caught up in the fight, potentially killed.  Even if she _was_ human, it didn't mean Halfrek had to like the idea of her getting hurt.  And the entire affair was enough to make her head spin._

Still, a job was a job, and as long as D'Hoffryn was her boss, Halfrek had no choice but to do what he said.

Even if it meant Anyanka paid the price for it…

To be continued in Chapter 6: Blue in Green…


	6. Blue in Green

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.  And the chapter titles are courtesy of Miles Davis.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  The road trip to New Orleans continues, after Buffy and Spike share an impromptu kiss at the roadside bar…

*************

Three hours of near-silence was driving Buffy to a desperation that she rarely felt these days, hungry for anything that would provide a distraction from the thoughts that refused to stop spiraling inside her skull, careening in cascades that brought alternating flushes and chills to her flesh.  It probably would've been easier if Spike would just say something crude or mean-spirited, anything that would remind her of the maddening vampire she knew him to be, but he'd spent the time since they left the bar lost in his own daydreams, his radio tuned to an oldies station instead of the blare of that godawful noise he considered music, offering her only the occasional question when their path was uncertain.  

Her lips still tingled from the remembrance of their kiss, and the notion that it hadn't been entirely a game of make-believe with the vamp lingered like one of those instincts she'd spent the past five years honing.  It didn't make sense, though, for either of them to herald such a response.  Spike made no bones about voicing his dislike for her and her friends; there was no valid reason for her to even think that would change now.  What made even less sense was that she could in any way be attracted to him.  He was evil.  Soulless.  A monster she was chosen to kill.  

Even if at the moment all she could think about was how much she was actually enjoying being in his company.

When she saw the van, then, a dark shadow at the side of the highway, barely discernible in the early night hours, Buffy jumped at the diversion from her train of thought, catching a flash of a man's pale skin as he rounded the far corner of the vehicle's rear.  "Stop the car!" the Slayer ordered, yanking down her window to stick her head out so that she could get a better look.

Though the DeSoto's velocity slowed, Spike didn't stop, frowning as he glanced in his rearview mirror.  "What bug's gotten up your skirt?" he asked.

"Not a bug," she replied tightly, and grabbed the steering wheel to jerk it to the side.  "A van."

The vamp growled as he reclaimed control, skidding with a spit of stones onto the shoulder.  "Killin' us isn't goin' to help Red."

"That's a dark van we passed back there."  Her hand hovered on the door handle, waiting for the car to come to a complete halt before jumping out.  "You said you smelled her when a van went by."

He looked at her in disbelief.  "You can't honestly think it's the same one?" he asked, incredulous.  "Do you have any soddin' idea how _big_ this country is?  Odds are it's just someone havin' a spot of engine trouble."

"All the more reason for us to stop.  They can probably use some help."

She was out of the car before he could reply, and Spike grimaced as he slapped at the steering wheel.  "Didn't sign up for roadside assistance," he grumbled.  "S'posed to be driving to New Orleans, havin' a bit of a lark while the Slayer goes gallivanting around tryin' to find Red, and then back to the Hellmouth.  Simple."  There was a moment, and then he swiveled his head to look at her through the back window, blue eyes sweeping over the golden limbs eerily orange in his rear lights as she strode determinedly toward the vehicle in the distance.  "Bitch doesn't even know anything about cars.  What the hell does she think she's actually goin' to do?"

There was only a moment of hesitation, and then, with a barely suppressed growl, Spike shoved his door open, sliding out into the cooling night air with a heavy step that gritted beneath his boot.  His eyes flickered to the van in the distance, and the dead scent drifting from it hit him immediately, furrowing his brow as he watched Buffy continue to stroll toward the vehicle.  She had to know what she was approaching, right? he thought, his own feet carrying him to the rear of the DeSoto, blond head tilting as he regarded the pale form of the other man emerge from behind the van.  The lack of a break in her step said she didn't, though, and Spike involuntarily edged himself forward.

"Slayer!" he called out, his voice shattering the night quiet.

He could hear her exasperated sigh as she stopped, turning in her place to look back at him.  "What?"

"You're barking up the wrong tree here.  That's not the bloke who snatched Red."

"You said you didn't see the driver," she accused.

"I didn't---."

"So you can't know for sure that this isn't him, now can you?"

"I'm tellin' you, I don't think---."

"Newsflash, Spike.  You're not here because of your brainpower.  You're only here because of your carpower.  As lame as that is.  Besides, even if it's not the same guy, he probably still needs our help.  He could be broken down or something."

Before he could reply, Spike frowned as Buffy went flying sideways, wrapped in a full tackle by the now vamped-out man, rolling into the brush along the road in a tangle of arms and legs.  He shook his head.  "He's not interested in your help, pet," he muttered and visibly winced when he saw the heel of her foot connect with the other vampire's chest, sending him flying back onto the concrete as she regained her footing.  Stupid git.  Hear me call her the Slayer and attack, instead of turning tail and running like the wind.  Deserve to be made mincemeat of.

"You're not just planning to sit there and watch, are you?" Buffy shot to Spike as she ducked a punch from the newly recovered demon, letting her own hands reach forward to grab her attacker's ankle.  "Because this would go a lot faster if you maybe pitched in a little."  A graceful lift flipped the demon backwards, his face meeting the road with an audible scrape.

"Like you're pitchin' in with the driving?" Spike replied, arms folded over his chest as he leaned back against the trunk, his tongue snaking out to trace his teeth as his azure gaze slid over her lithe form.  "'Sides, since when can't you handle one itty bitty vampire all on your lonesome?"   The gleam in his eye quickly faded, however, when the side door on the van slid open, allowing three more vampires to emerge into the moonlight, each one seemingly bigger than the one previous.  He straightened, senses on alert.  "Bugger."

She wasn't aware of the additions to the fray until the nearest one sucker-punched her side, bending her torso in a lissome curve as she squeaked in surprise and fell out of their way.  Inwardly, Buffy cursed.  Her head had been so distracted by Spike, she hadn't even caught on that the guy was a vampire until it was too late, and now his buddies seemed determined to make her their midnight snack.  This is all Spike's fault, she thought angrily as she jumped to her feet, ducking just in time to watch one of the new attackers go sailing over her head.  Just like always.

Concentrate.  Battle at hand.  Four against one.

Except it could be four against two if Spike would get off his ass and help.

Jerk.

Her fists landed with sickening accuracy, the tension that had been wound throughout her muscles over the course of the last few hours released in a cloud of scarlet anger.  Quickly, two of the vampires were knocked to the side, momentarily out of it, and Buffy was left facing the original demon and the largest of his buddies.

"Never thought we'd bag us a Slayer," the first said, his tongue darting out to lick wetly at his lips.

"And she's cute besides," the second noted.  At some point, he had pulled a knife from a scabbard at his side and was now twirling it between his fingers, almost nonchalantly as his golden eyes danced over Buffy's curves.  "Think she's a screamer?"  A hungry grin split his face.  "I like it when they scream."

"Are you _completely_ daft?"

The sound of Spike's voice caught all of their attention as he sauntered to within several feet of the face-off.  A stake dangled from his hand, and Buffy caught the glimpse of another tucked inside the back of his jeans, stifling the smug smile that rose to her lips.  About time, she thought with satisfaction.  Especially since I was beginning to think I'd have to ram a stray twig through these guys' chests in order to get rid of them once and for all.

"This is the _Slayer_," Spike was saying, ignoring her presence to concentrate on the other vampires.  "She kills our kind.  Very well, I might add."

"Thanks, Spike," she chirped, tossing the others a bright grin.  Tag team banter.  She could do this.  Show the vamps a united front.  Even if it was with Spike.  At this point, it seemed obvious---to her, at least---that the chipped demon had stepped up to the plate ready to hit one out of the ballpark with those stakes in his possession.  No way was she going to let on that things might not be completely copasetic between them.

"Though, have to say," he was adding, "silly chit's not so bright herself.  She fell for the oldest trick in the book.  Me and Dru used to pull the same act back in the day.  Have to say, though, it usually works better if you've got a bird to do the whole damsel in distress act.  Blokes are more likely to stop then."  He shook his head in mock disappointment.  "Goin' to have to have a word with her Watcher when we get back to Sunnyhell.  Ol' Rupes is slacking in his training.  'Course, he might've told her and it just didn't sink in.  Like I said.  She's not so bright." 

"Hey!"  Her cheerful demeanor quickly disintegrated into anger at his careless flippancy.

"Doesn't mean she doesn't know which end of a stake is up, though," he finished, ignoring her protestation.  Before the others could react, the blond vampire had tossed the weapon to the Slayer, his words and attitude distracting the others until it was too late for them to intercede.

She caught it in mid-air, her senses alerting her to the rising danger of the vampires she'd recently dispatched behind her, and Buffy whirled in her place to thrust the stake deep into the chest of the nearest demon.  Before the dust could finish eddying around her, she had already turned to stare down the second, mouth set, hazel flaring as she caught a dim flash of platinum streaking past her out of the corner of her eye.

"Insert Stake A into Chest B," she said, and lunged before he could react.

Two down, two to go, she thought grimly as the demon dust settled about her.  She had half-turned to join the rest of the fight when Spike's voice cut through the air.

"Buffy!  Watch---!"

She didn't even hear the rest of the warning as the knife the second vampire had been wielding sliced across her exposed left shoulder, carving the sinew in the joint with a deadly precision that sent rivers of blood washing down her arm, and Buffy gritted her teeth in order not to scream out from the pain.  A vicious kick with her foot connected with his midriff, and she felt him crumple beneath her attack.  The glance out of the corner of her eye, however, showed that he was still standing, staggering back to face her, her blood now staining the blade he held ready to use again.

The scuffle of Spike's own fight happened within the periphery of the Slayer's hearing, but she tuned it out, her mind shuttling itself back to allow her body to take control, instinctively turning her unhurt side to face her foe.  

Another kick, another jab.  Duck to avoid his clumsy swing.  Roll out of his way.  Up.  Behind him.  And there was his back, exposed and waiting.

The drive of her arm through the muscles and bones that protected his heart was powerful, and it wasn't until the air before her had cleared of his dust that Buffy became aware of the throbbing in her left side, the stickiness that now forced her tank to cling to her body, the scent of her blood filling her nostrils.  For a moment, the world swirled around her, and she took a deep breath, forcing herself to steady the muscles that were already screaming in revolt, before turning to scan the area for the remaining vampire.

Against the van, Spike was plunging his own stake into the original demon's chest, the glee in the fight shining in his blue eyes.  He hadn't even vamped out, she realized.  Bastard barely even broke a sweat.  And for what?  One measly vampire? 

Anger boiled inside her, mingling with the pain and frustration of her thoughts from the past few hours, and she stalked to the blond's side, her fist shooting out and hitting his jaw before he could even straighten from his kill.

The impact sent him hurtling into the nose of the van.  "Hey!" a surprised Spike said, rubbing at his jaw in furious disbelief.  "What the bloody hell was that for?"

"You _knew_ he was a vampire!"

"Well…yeah."  His heavy brows knitted together.  "Tried tellin' you it wasn't the guy who took Red."

"But you didn't say it was a vamp!"

Her anger seemed to be coming from nowhere, and Spike felt his own ire begin to fade as he scrutinized the flush in her cheeks.  "Since when do I have to be telling the Slayer when there's a vampire around?" he asked.  "You're the one who gets the tinglies, remember?  You should've sussed out what he was, soon as you opened that door."  His eyes narrowed.  "You're not short circuiting here, are you?  Because inquiring vamps want to know.  You were just marchin' up to him, plain as could be, without even a weapon if I remember correctly."

"I would've found something," she said through gritted teeth.  "That's what I do."

"Yeah," he drawled, and the next was out of his mouth before he could even think to stop it.  "I s'pose you could've pulled out that stick from your ass to stake 'em.  Without Farmboy around, that's got to be the only wood you're keeping around these days."

Blue met green in a desperate clash, both persons silent as they just stared at each other.  A flare of hurt burned in Buffy's gaze, shock at the venom in his tone mingling with genuine dismay that he would actually say such a thing.  So much for my instincts, she thought.  He's the same old Spike.  Mean, and hateful, and only interested in whatever's going to cause the greatest amount of pain.  I can't believe I was falling for that whole I-can-be-a-decent-guy routine.

As soon as the words came tumbling out, Spike regretted them, wishing that he could just scoop them back up and shove them back in, pretend that they had never been said.  It had just been reflex, too much conditioning to lash out when she was attacking him, and now it was too late to retract them.  He could only stand there and watch the distress brighten the hazel into scorching orbs, a lick of guilt creeping along his spine.

For a moment, Buffy faltered, catching the current underlying the sapphire gazing back at her that brought her earlier questions rushing back to fruition, battling with the conclusions she had only just reached to quicken her pulse, the adrenaline that had been easing through her veins suddenly acting as if trapped within a hurricane.  She almost would've thought it was…pain?  Guilt?  But this was his usual modus operandi.  Can't hit her with his fist, so the vamp attacked with words, driving them home with that sickening effortlessness that was his signature.  No reason for him to feel guilty about it.  That's just the way he worked.

And then it was gone, lost when he ducked his head to brush past her and toward the car.

"Slay break is over," he said tightly.  "Time to hit the road again."

He'd meant to go straight for the DeSoto, but as soon as he was on the other side of the Slayer, the scent of her fresh blood assailed his senses, whipping his head around to stare at the wound that adorned her shoulder.  "Jesus, Buffy," he snarled, and was back at her side in a moment, pale fingers pressing against the curling flesh on either side of the gash.  He knew she'd been hurt, but she'd been holding herself so well, no indication of pain on her face, he'd figured it wasn't a big deal.  This wasn't just a cut.  This was the fuckin' Grand Canyon.  "If you're lookin' for a medal for bravery, think again.  Ignoring this only merits one for being completely and utterly stupid."

"That's the second time you've called me stupid tonight," she said, and tried to turn around, only to be met by his firm touch on her good shoulder.  "What's next?  Dumb blonde jokes?"

He ignored her attempt to rile him, concentrating on the blood that still flowed freely from her injury.  Its nearness was intoxicating, and though the back of his mouth prickled from the desire to just press his lips to her skin and suck, Spike thrust the thoughts aside.  "Don't s'pose you thought to pack a first aid kit," he said.

She frowned.  He was taking this worry thing a little far.  "Well, yeah.  In my line of work, it's one of those don't-leave-home-without-it kind of things."

"Don't move."

She didn't listen, turning around to watch the blond vampire make a dash for the DeSoto, fumbling with his keys to get the trunk open.  "What's the big deal?  Slayer healing, remember?  If you're worried about me bleeding in your car, just give me a few minutes.  It'll stop on its own."

The look he shot her over his shoulder was dangerous.  "Thought I told you not to move."

"You're over-reacting.  I'm fine."

"Really?"  His head was buried in the trunk, and there was a pause as he dropped the sleeping bag that had been in it onto the ground before glancing back at her again.  "Have you taken a gander at what he actually did to you?"  When she started to turn to look over her shoulder, he barked, "Well, don't bloody look now!  You'll split yourself in soddin' two by twistin' yourself like that!"

She stopped, returning her gaze to watch him pull the small box from her duffel, grabbing it and the bag from the ground and marching back to her side.  "Are we having a campout?" she asked blithely.  Her head was starting to feel just a little woozy, and she briefly wondered if maybe she'd underestimated the extent of her injury.  "I hope you've got marshmallows."

"You're goin' to need to lie down while I stitch that up," he replied.  "So unless you fancy gettin' a faceful of dirt---."

"Stitches?  It's that bad?"

His eyes were level with hers.  "Would I be playin' Clara Barton if it was just a paper cut now?"

There it was again, hidden within the blue, only not, because Buffy could've sworn she could see it shining back at her as true as if he'd said the words out loud.  He was _worried about her.  Worried about the injury that she knew was probably a little more serious than she'd originally envisaged.  And yet none of it made sense.  How could he go from being so cold and callous to concerned and caring without even batting an eyelash?_

Mention of the aforesaid appendage was enough for her to tear her gaze from his, lowering her own lashes to hide the confusion she knew was there.  It was maddening how Spike managed to drive what little control she had around him out the window, the mere idea of his eyes enough to send her pulse racing.  Or was that the wound doing the talking now?  All of a sudden, the world didn't seem to be making sense, pitching in delicate waves around the corners of her vision before the crimson-tinged black wrapped around her skull.

He caught her before she could crumple to the ground, cursing under his breath as he dropped the first aid kit to do so.  Silly bint had passed out from the blood loss, all because she was too damn stubborn to listen to him in the first place.  Not that he really blamed her.  He probably would've done the same if he was in her shoes.  They didn't exactly have much reason to trust each other right now, now did they?

Still, he'd have to stitch her up in a hurry if he didn't want her dyin' on him.  Rupes would probably be none too pleased if his Slayer bit the dust on Spike's watch.

Not that Spike would be happy about the prospect either.  Far from it.

Laying out the sleeping bag while trying to hold her unconscious form in such a way as not to aggravate her wound proved more difficult than he thought, and by the time Spike managed it, his own shirt was soaked with the Slayer's blood.  The faintest of desires to take it off and begin sucking at the fabric flitted across his brain, but he shoved it aside as he gently stretched her out on her stomach, positioning her arm so that the cut was as closed as possible before kneeling at the bag's edge, the kit at his side.  He had a job to do.  Time to buck up and get it done.

For the first time, he hesitated.  Though he could see the wound through the sliced material of her tank top, there was no way he was going to be able to work on it without exposing more of her skin, which meant the top had to go, one way or another.  His eyes darted to her face, the shallow breathing, her lashes surprisingly dark against her skin.  God, she was beautiful, he thought all of a sudden, and then grimaced, shaking his head as if to clear it from the distraction.  Back to business.  The shirt.  If he did this, she'd be pissed as hell when she woke up.  'Course, if he didn't, she might not wake up at all.  Right then.  Easy choice.

Decision made, Spike gingerly grabbed the hem of the top and yanked upward, rending it in half so that each fluttered like butterfly wings to her sides, exposing the tender arch of her spine in a long, clean line to his sight.  The beginnings of her summer tan lines marred the golden stretch of skin, and his arousal was immediate, his mouth watering as unbidden images of a bikini-clad Slayer cavorting in the surf danced along his inner eye.  The merest of tremors shook his hand as he reached for the kit again.  It was probably just as well she was out cold while he sewed her up.  Somehow, he had a feeling the distraction of her body---so near, so touchable, and yet, not his to touch---was going to put his stitching just a tad on the shaky side.

But he'd get it done.

He wasn't letting her get away that easily.

*************

The first thing she became aware of was the cool feel of leather across her bare back, a delicious weight that pressed her into the ground, forcing the scents of the earth up her nose to tickle her memory with images from her childhood.  It should've been hot, she realized, but was surprised that it wasn't, instead a comforting sheath from the cooling evening breeze.

As her other senses awoke from whatever sleep within which she'd been carried, Buffy's eyes flickered open, adjusting quickly to the dark of the star-laden sky, the horizon tilted dangerously on end as she blinked once, and then twice, as if that would suddenly right it.  Oh, yeah, she thought.  Lying down.  Makes sense.  Ground beneath my cheek, sky over my head.

Except it wasn't the ground her face rested against, but the slick covering of the sleeping bag Spike had pulled from his trunk.  And the memory of what exactly had happened came flooding back in a kaleidoscope of living snapshots.

Her hands came up to shoulder-height, pushing against the earth in order to sit herself up, a sudden burning in her shoulder reminding her of the knife wound she'd sustained from the vampire.  Almost immediately, cool hands were on her flesh, guiding her back down, adjusting the coat that slipped from her back, and Buffy realized for the first time that her top was no longer on her body.

"You probably shouldn't move yet."  Spike's voice was husky, carrying softly to her ears, and Buffy turned her head to see him crouching at her side.  "You've stopped bleedin' but you should wait it out a bit longer so that you don't open it up again."

"What…happened?"  She was almost afraid of the answer.  She'd passed out, she knew that, but beyond the scope of knowing he'd claimed she needed stitches, the Slayer was at a loss for why she was now semi-nude.

"I patched you up," he explained, and then ducked his head, one hand coming up to worry through his hair.  "Couldn't get to it right with...your top in the way, though, so I had to…tear it off you.  Sorry 'bout that."

Buffy frowned, glancing down to see the remnants of her shirt lying at her sides.  Better not to press the issue, she decided.  She was on her stomach, her injury was on her back, Spike didn't see anything.  Plus, for some reason, he'd covered her up with his coat.  "How long was I out of it?"

The vampire straightened, long fingers extracting his lighter from his pocket as he reached for his cigarettes.  "'Bout an hour.  But you should give it another fifteen or twenty minutes before you move, pet.  We'll hit the highway then.  You can stretch out in the back so you don't aggravate it more."

The tip of his cigarette flared in the darkness, casting his face in crimson shadows before ebbing back into black, and Buffy watched as he turned away.  "Thank you," she said softly, unsure if he'd actually hear her but having to get the words out anyway.  When were the surprises going to end? she wondered.  Her confusion had returned, the questions tumbling around inside her head, but through it all, the desire to show him her gratitude burned brighter than anything else.  She didn't know why.  She'd never been great at figuring out the roots of her instincts.  She just knew when to follow them.  So this time she did.

The stiffening of his shoulders was all she needed to know that her words had carried to his ears.  "Spike," she called softly, and waited for him to turn back to her before continuing.  "What're you doing?"

He took a long moment to answer.  "Looks like I'm smoking a fag," he finally said.

"No, I meant…you know…with everything…"  This was one of those times she wished she was more like her Mom.  Joyce always seemed to be so articulate about saying what she was thinking.  Buffy must've inherited the miscommunication gene from her father.  She sighed.  "Could you come over here, please?" she asked.  "Watching you pace around without being able to move hurts my eyeballs."

For a second, she thought he was going to ignore her request, watching as he stared over the treeless horizon into nothing.  "Mind if I finish my smoke over there?" he asked with a gentle tilt of his head.

Buffy frowned.  "Since when do you ask my permission about stuff like that?"

"Since you're lying there with a few dozen stitches holding your arm in its socket," he retorted, but there was a teasing quality to his voice that belied the severity of his words.  Not waiting for a response, his boots crunched over the grit as he approached, and her eyes flickered to his pale face as he settled himself at the far edge of the sleeping bag, pushing aside the duster that splayed beside her.

"Too high," she complained.  "Looking up at you like that is going to give me a headache."

"What do you want me to bloody do?"

There was a pause, and then, "You could stretch out next to me.  We'd be even steven then."

If he'd had breath, she would've taken it away with that suggestion.  Ever since he'd finished administering to her wound, Spike had been fighting back the impulse to cover her body with his own, to feel her heat seeping into his skin, to caress the curves of her hips as they ground into his own.  Covering her with his duster, he thought, was the next best thing, because when he got it back, her scent would be all over it.  He'd be able to enjoy it all the way to New Orleans then.  He'd just have to maybe put up with Slayer comments about wearing the coat in the middle of fucking summer.

And now here she was, saying words he wouldn't expect to ever fall from the Slayer's lips, and he was actually sitting back and debating as to whether it was a smart idea or not to do it.  The sound of her voice had brought back his erection; would he be able to hide it from her long enough so that he wouldn't end up as much dust as the other vamps?  Did he really care?

"If you're not going to lay down, I'm going to get up."

That settled it.  Her moving was not a good idea.  

Flicking his cigarette into the road, Spike carefully eased his weight back onto his elbows, before lowering himself completely to the ground.  Not going to look at her, he decided, eyes focusing on the stars above.  That'll make it easier.

"You're wearing a different shirt."

There was confusion in her voice, and he glanced down, frowning slightly as he gazed at the black tee.  How the hell did she know that? he wondered.  All his clothes looked the same.  "Yeah," Spike said out loud.  "The other one kind of took a bath in Slayer blood."

"Oh."  Pause.  "Sorry."

He could feel her eyes boring into him, and stiffened his neck to fight the urge to turn it and gaze into those hazel depths.  Today had been a roller coaster---hell, his _life had been a roller coaster ever since she stepped into it---and somehow, he just knew that looking at her wasn't going to make it any easier to suss out.  He just wished he could know once and for all what the hell was going on inside his head.  Or hers, for that matter.  She'd been hot and cold on him all day, one minute treating him like he was, well, _someone_, and then the next, back to hammering his face with her fist.  He wasn't sure how much of this he could actually take._

"How long before we get to New Orleans?"  It wasn't the question she wanted to ask, but the other words refused to come to Buffy's lips, forcing her to settle on idle chitchat while her brain worked around its inability to just confront the blond vamp about what was going on between them.

"Provided you don't make us stop for any more ambushes," Spike said, "we should get there some time in the middle of the night tomorrow."

"I really didn't know it was a trap, you know."

"I know."  He chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment.  "So why didn't they show up on your Slayer radar?" he queried.  "It's not like you to be surprised like that."

"You're not going to tell Giles, are you?"

He snorted.  "Not bloody likely.  Somehow, it'd end up bein' my fault, I just know it.  I'm not givin' him any excuse to come waltzing around so that he can stake my ass, unless it's for something I've well-deserved and gotten some enjoyment from."  Like shagging his Slayer, he added silently, and then mentally chastised himself as his erection throbbed within the confines of his jeans.  Fuck.  That kind of thinking's only going to make this worse than it already is.

As the stillness that settled between them lengthened, Spike began to wonder if maybe she'd fallen asleep again, and debated risking his control by turning to look at her.

"I was…distracted," Buffy finally said, the timbre of her voice hollow in the cool air.

"By what?" he quizzed.  The stars were suddenly interesting again.  "The ride since we left the bar wasn't exactly frolicking with fun."

_There it is_, the little voice inside her head squeaked.  _Your opening.__  Ask him about the kiss._

"I'm worried about Willow," she said instead, and shook a mental fist at the little voice.  Ha, she thought with satisfaction.  Don't think you can fool me that easy.

Each time she spoke, her breath warmed his cheek, tickling the inside of his mouth with anticipation, reminding him of her proximity as he fought to contain the control she seemed to suck from his flesh by her mere presence.  "She'll be all right," he said gruffly, and closed his eyes.  There.  Block it all out.  Just wait out the next few minutes until you can get back on the damn road and she's tucked safely away in the back seat.  "Red'll be all right," he repeated.

"You're going to help me…in New Orleans, right?"

"Sure.  I know people, got a few markers I can call in.  It'll at least give us the lay of the land, but if that Stella's sung in a single club in that town, don't worry.  We'll find her."

"I'm…glad I've got you as an ally in this, Spike."  How's that? she asked the little voice in her head.  Does that satisfy you?

_Nope._

"Just don't be spreading the word on that.  I've got me a reputation to protect, you know."

She couldn't help the giggle that bubbled from her throat.  "God, Spike, if your rep isn't shot to hell already, it's certainly already got enough bullet holes to make it look like Swiss cheese.  I don't think anything I could say now would make it any worse."

He should've known it wouldn't be words that broke his resolve.  Her laughter hooked into his chest with kitten claws that prickled instead of hurt, too soft to inflict real damage but strong enough to sink into the unbeating muscle and tug with inexorable ease, forcing his chin sideways, the desire to see her face lit up in delight too great to ignore as his eyes met hers.

The darkness did nothing to disguise the bright hazel that gleamed back at him, and though her teeth exposed beneath her smile held their own shine, his gaze was locked on hers, blue drowning in green as her giggles slowly faded.

Nothing else, just her…and him…and _you know you want to echoing inside two different heads.  Inside her chest, Buffy's heart suddenly erupted, everything that had seemed so baffling ever since that afternoon exploding into a white fury of simplicity as, without even thinking, her neck began to stretch forward, eyes flickering between the sinking sapphire of his aspect and that full bottom lip._

His met hers halfway, slightly tremulous, definitely unsure, afraid to taste yet hungry to devour.  She was the first to part her lips, to sneak her tongue out and taste the nectar of his mouth, her breath shuddering through her body as she fervently wished she wasn't bound to stillness by her wound.

Her boldness strengthened his resolve, and Spike's hand came up, fingertips gliding along the velvet underside of her jaw, stopping on the fine point of her chin to pull it gently closer.  Hurt, she's hurt, he reminded himself, but deepened the kiss anyway, ignoring the implications and instead focusing on the pinnacle of her blood rushing so close, her body crying out to his as the scent of her arousal overcame the smell of her injuries.

Buffy was panting when he finally pulled away, the slightest of pouts curving her lower lip as darkened eyes rose to meet his.  "I'm…" she started, only to have her breath catch in her throat when the fingers that had been on her chin rose to settle over her mouth.

"Don't," he murmured.  "We start on the words and somehow we always end up mucking things up."

She laughed, in spite of the truth in his statement.  "That's because you're in love with hearing yourself talk, Spike."

The retort came automatically to his lips, but he bit it back as the realization that she was teasing him tempered the ire that had risen in his gullet.  "You seemed to be enjoying it this afternoon," he reminded her in a guileless taunt, and was rewarded with a faint blush in her cheeks.

"You can be mildly amusing when you're not being an ass," Buffy replied.

"Think the same can be said about you, pet."

"And the kiss?"  Time to ask.  All the gates were down.  Hell, she figured she'd pretty much smashed them by initiating that last caress.  What could she possibly have to lose now?

"Which one?"

"Either.  Both.  You pick."  She wanted to be able to look away, but the draw of blue was too great to ignore, and so she waited, gazing into his eyes, small teeth nibbling at her lower lip.

He seemed fascinated by the play happening on her mouth, and resisted the urge to join her in the biting.  "You're goin' to think I'm a poof," Spike warned, his voice a silken rumble against her bare skin.  

"It's better than hating you, right?"

It was meant to be a joke---he knew that was her intention---but the insinuation that she didn't, that she might in fact be harboring feelings other than loathing caused the hair on the vampire's arms to stand on end, surprising him with the abrupt wish to hear her confess to more.  Sod it, he thought.  If she can do this, so can I.

"Bloody spectacular, luv," he whispered, and drew the pad of his thumb over the line of her jaw.  "Both of them."

And there it was, as much confession as he thought he could do in such a short period of time, hanging there waiting for the Slayer to either dash it to the ground to grind underneath her well-heeled foot or to embrace with even a fraction of the passion she'd shown during the pair of caresses.  He scared himself by hoping for the latter; he just wished he could predict which she was going to select.

Buffy surprised him by turning her head just enough to catch the palm of his hand with her mouth.  "Thank you for being honest," she murmured as she pulled away.  Her lashes lifted, a small smile curling her lips.  "Is my time up yet?  Do you think we can get back on the road now?"

The shift in topic was unexpected.  "Yeah," Spike said, and scrambled to his feet, breaking the spell that had woven around them.  As he glanced down at her, saw her upturned face looking up into his, he amended his assessment.  Not a broken spell, he decided with a tilt of his head.  Just…suspended for a bit.  She wasn't running from him.  She was just trying to get things back on track.  

He grinned.  Kind of ironic to think that he was part of that track now.

And the thing of it was…

They both knew it.

To be continued in Chapter 7: So Near, So Far…


	7. So Near, So Far

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.  And the chapter titles are courtesy of Miles Davis.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Buffy got wounded in a roadside vampire ambush, and after getting stitched up by Spike, shared another kiss with him, while back in Sunnydale, the Scoobies are still trying to some more answers to help get Willow back…

*************

There was something ironic about sipping a cup of hot tea while watching the sweltering California sun peek over the tiled roofs in a promise of another scorching summer day, but at the moment, Giles was too tired to dwell on it.

Eight-thirty in the morning, and an all-night research session had provided nothing of any relevance to aid them in Willow's disappearance.  Oh, certainly, he'd learned quite a bit about various talismans that resembled the mark on the young man's wrist, and he'd most definitely acquired more knowledge on the powers of singing than he'd ever thought imaginable, but none of it was pertinent to their current situation.  At least, he didn't think so.  

And without something a bit more to go on, he was afraid that they would just be spinning their wheels here in Sunnydale.  

The thought that he had perhaps been too hasty in despatching Buffy and Spike on their own to New Orleans had crossed his mind more than once, but the Watcher was refusing to dwell upon it, or the idea of his Slayer spending so much time in the close company of the vampire at all.  Granted, it _had been his idea to send them off together in the first place, but that had been borne of necessity more than anything else.  Just because Spike was chipped, it didn't mean he couldn't still be dangerous.  He just hoped that the pair had reached some sort of understanding along their travels to make it as painfree as possible._

"Hey there, Mr. Ex-Librarian Man," chirped Xander as he entered the courtyard outside Giles' flat.  From his hand swung a brightly colored sack, the scent of fresh pastry already heavy in the air.

Giles looked at his watch with a small frown.  "Aren't you supposed to work today?" he asked.

"I called in sick."  A quick glance between the seated Watcher and his closed front door brought a confused smile to his face.  "Please tell me your air conditioning isn't busted.  Because if it is, I'm putting my vote in right now for moving this research shindig to Starbucks.  No Willow means no playing coffee Nazi which means unlimited java goodness."  It was a feeble attempt to make light of his best friend's absence, but even he didn't buy it, and Giles' responding smile was half-hearted at best.

"Tara's asleep on the couch," he said in explanation.  "I didn't wish to wake her just yet.  It was a very long, very unproductive night."

"So no go on the information front, huh?"  He settled himself down on the step next to the Watcher and held the bag open to allow the older man to extract a donut.  "Guess that makes us zero for two then."

"It's unfortunate your friend didn't have any additional information."

"OK, first of all, _not my friend.  We just graduated together.  The guy spent most of high school either stoned or in Snyder's office.  I mean, yeah, he did clean up some senior year, but frankly, the fact that he's pulling the graveyard shift at that gas station just goes to show he's only got about two functioning brain cells left."_

"Weren't you _fired_ from that gas station?" Giles asked between bites, glancing surreptitiously at the young man out of the corner of his eye.

"And that's _so_ not the point here."

Stifling his smile, the Watcher reached for his tea, sipping at it for a moment before continuing.  "You said when you rang last night that he recognized Spike as a vampire and that he seemed appropriately frightened of him.  You don't think that might have curbed what information he shared with Spike?"

Xander shook his head.  "I think it made him more likely to spill his guts actually," he said.  "He seemed genuinely shocked by the fact that Spike paid for his gas instead of just being a drive-off.  Kept going on about purple fans and thank yous.  It didn't make much sense, but then again, no big shocker there.  The guy couldn't even remember that Anya hadn't been at our graduation.  Of course, he spent the whole time we were there staring at her breasts---."

"Do you think he's reliable then?  If his memory is so sketchy, perhaps his information isn't trustworthy."

Another shake of denial.  "Nah, he's the real deal.  I can't really blame him for being distracted by Ahn's chest.  She _was_ wearing that tiny little white thing when we went.  Doesn't really leave a whole lot to the imagination---."

Giles cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken.  "I suppose it's late enough for us to wake Tara and resume our research," he said, rising to his feet.  "I do hope Buffy calls us today with an update.  I'd like to hear that they've arrived safely."

"Or that she's finally staked Fangboy's ass.  That would be good news, too."  He stopped, brows furrowing.  "Wait.  Except that would leave the Buffster stranded out in the middle of nowhere with a big pile of dust and a rusty old jalopy she can't drive.  Scratch that.  She can stake his ass once they get to Mardi Gras town."

For a moment, Giles fumbled with his teacup and donut, wondering which of his now occupied hands he could use to open the door.  He finally opted to stick the pastry in his mouth, holding it between his teeth as he pushed the egress ajar.

As a blast of artificially cooled air met the two already-sweating male bodies, Xander sighed in exaggerated relief, standing on the threshold with his head thrown back, basking in the comfort the inner sanctum offered.  "Ah, blessed arctic ambience," he said.  "Sometimes, I really wish I was an Eskimo.  I'd even put up with all the whale blubber if it meant not being drenched in my own bodily fluids all day."  His head lowered, glancing nervously at Giles.  "You know I meant sweat, right?"

The sound of Xander's voice roused Tara from her spot on the couch, wide eyes blinking as she sat up.  There was a moment of blankness as she looked at her surroundings, followed quickly by the sudden realization of where she was, a hesitant flush staining her cheeks as she hastened to lower her eyes.  "I'm s-s-so sorry," she stammered, jumping to her feet.  "I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"No, really, it's all right," Giles assured.  "We did have a long night, after all.  And Willow's fallen asleep in that same spot more than once."  At the young woman's surprised look, he amended, "Well, Xander has, at any rate.  Willow tends to be rather diligent in staying awake for our research sessions."

Her gaze flickered to the doorway.  "Where's Anya?" she asked.  "Isn't she going to help us today?"

Xander shrugged.  "Dunno.  She was gone when I woke up.  She seemed kind of weirded out by our little gas station encounter last night.  But I'm sure she'll show up some time."

*************

She knew she should go over to Giles', but somehow her feet didn't want to cooperate.  Instead, they were curled up against her, her knees drawn up while she hugged her legs close, and she was staring blankly at the opposite wall of her bedroom, her hair hanging limply around her face.

Anya hadn't slept at all during the night, slipping out of Xander's bed somewhere around four, walking herself home while she mused on thoughts of death, and mysterious warnings from old friends, and the possibility that something serious could happen to disrupt the life she was beginning to forge for herself.  As far as lives went, it wasn't one she would've chosen, but things were finally beginning to shape up for her here in Sunnydale, and all of a sudden, it looked like Willow was going to be the one to smash the whole thing to smithereens.

Stupid witch, she thought irritably, perching her chin on the knees she hugged close to her body.  Why does she have to go and ruin my fun by getting herself kidnapped?  Everything was just hunky-dory.  Lots of sex, a nicely-shaped boyfriend who looked like he'd finally found a job he could stick with, no death on the horizon.  And then presto!  All of it was taken away in a blink of an eye, all because Willow was part of some apocalyptic nightmare about to happen on the other side of the country.  Well, maybe not all of it.  She still had Xander, even if he had been too tired to have sex more than once last night.  But her peace of mind was officially missing in action, and death…well, death had decided to pop its ugly head up and remind the ex-demon that this time, she could very well end up on his dance card.

She had actually started coming to grips with Halfrek's warning, deciding that maybe her old friend was over-reacting, or that as long as she kept Xander from going to New Orleans, the pair of them could at the very least avoid the worst of the mass destruction and deliverance of all things evil that seemed to be brewing down there.  Then, they'd arrived at that damn gas station.

And everything had pretty much gone to hell in a human-shaped handbasket.

It was that clerk's fault.  What was his name again?  Bill…Phil…Will…Kill… Anya scowled.  Kill, yeah, that's what she wanted.  What she wouldn't do to be able to shove a little lethal vengeance down the little creepmeister's throat right about now.  Maybe have thousands of bees sting that wagging tongue of his.  After all, he was the one who'd brought up graduation, dredging up the past and forcing Xander to remember that, yes, Anya Jenkins had run away from the impending apocalypse, fearful of her own life, only to return when the coast was all clear.  They'd argued about it briefly on the way home, ending with Xander's declaration that she would never do something like that now, not after becoming a member of the Scooby gang and all.  He hadn't even bothered to listen to her when she'd tried explaining about the whole not-wanting-to-die thing, a pursuit she considered rather valid considering they had such a short span on the mortal plane, and instead returned the conversation to his growing worry for the redheaded witch.

Stupid Willow, she repeated.  This is all your fault.

The part of it that was so maddening was Anya wasn't even sure why Halfrek had even bothered to show up in the first place.  Self-preservation was very high on the ex-demon's priority list, and even without her old friend's coaxing, she would've moved the earth to make sure her safety odds were as good as possible.  So then why the extra nudge to stay as far away from New Orleans as she could manage?  It wasn't like it was high on her exotic getaway spots.  Surprisingly enough, she'd only ever been to the Southern city once in her lifetime, well over a century earlier, and that visit was hardly motivation enough for her to return…

She stiffened, eyes widening in the dim light of her bedroom as flashes from her past streaked across her mind's eye.  Holy crap, she thought.  That couldn't be why Hallie's gone all doomsayer on me, is it?  How could one have anything to do with the other?  That was a hundred and some odd years ago, with someone who was most definitely _not_ Willow.  It couldn't be.  Did Halfrek even know about the voix mortelle?  No.  It wasn't logical.  And yet…

It was the only connection to New Orleans Anya could find.  And if this was the real reason she was being warned away from it, the idea of kidnapping Xander and disappearing to somewhere in Siberia all of a sudden sounded a lot more appealing…

*************

The chill wafting across her shoulder was the last thing she was expecting, and Buffy's eyes blinked against the dark shadows met by her waking gaze.  She was still lying down, but no longer on the leather of Spike's back seat.  It wasn't the slick vinyl of the sleeping bag, either.  No, what rested under her cheek was the stiff cotton of a cheap pillowcase, the scent of too much fabric softener filling her nose, and the cold embracing her skin was air conditioning.

Groaning slightly, Buffy sat up, her limbs stiff from inactivity, her legs swinging over the edge of the mattress as she glanced around the small hotel room.  At some point, Spike had stopped again, but how he got her inside during the daytime without even waking her was beyond the Slayer's understanding.  She only knew that she was here, and the vampire was…

…sprawled across a chair in the far corner, legs kicked out in front of him, head propped up on a borrowed cushion from the bed.  His eyes were closed in slumber, the murk of the room deepening the hollows of his cheeks, but even in the gloom, she could see the angry welts adorning his hands and wrists.

"Spike!" she called out, leaping from the bed, all thoughts to her own injury gone in light of the burns she was now witnessing.  Stupid, pig-headed vamp.  What in hell did he think he'd been doing?  All he'd had to do was wake her up.  Her shoulder was doing much better; she certainly could've walked the few feet from the car on her own so that he could have his blanket for protection.  At the very least, why didn't the demon own any gloves?

Crouching at his side, her hazel gaze scanned the wounds before flickering around the room, spying her duffel tossed to the floor next to the door.  She had her first aid kit in her hands in a flash, emptying its contents onto the bed, scrambling for the antiseptic cream before returning to Spike's side, and was unscrewing the cap when his eyes opened.

"The Slayer kneeling at my feet," he rumbled sleepily, lids heavy as he looked down at her.  "Must be in the middle of dream number fourteen."

She ignored his gibe, lightly taking his hand in hers.  The heat of the burns seemed foreign on his cool flesh, and she winced silently at the lividity of the inflammation.  It was much worse up close, and Buffy wondered yet again why he would subject himself to this rather than wake her up.  "So, is this masochistic streak a vampire thing, or a Spike thing?" she said.  "Because I don't get it."

"'S'nothing," he mumbled, eyes fixed on the lines between her brows as she set to work, easing the cream onto his hands.  Her tone was sharp, but there was no denying the worry haunting the hazel, even in the dark.  He'd spent the hours after their midnight pitstop listening to her breathing in the rear, reliving the kiss under the stars over and over again in his head, wishing he had the nerve to pull the DeSoto over and press the issue of whatever was happening between them.  She wanted him---well, her body did, at least---but was he merely a substitute for Soldier Boy?  Was she just interested in forgetting whatever had happened to her in Sunnydale?

"You needed your sleep," he further offered.  "The less you move that shoulder, the faster it'll mend."

"You sound like Mom," she said, but there was a twinkle in her eyes as she glanced up at him through her lashes.

"And I'm takin' that as a compliment, pet, whether that's how you intended it or not.  Your mum's a right smart bird.  Could do worse than---."  He hissed as the cream came into contact with a particularly sensitive portion of his hand, almost jerking it away from her grasp.  "Don't know why you're fussin', though," he said through gritted teeth, reluctantly relaxing back into her administration.  "Not like I can get an infection from it."

"It'll make it feel better."

"If that's your idea of better…"  Spike's voice trailed away as a warm, directed stream of air caressed the flesh of his wrists, his gaze fixated on the tiny purse Buffy had made of her mouth as she blew across the cream.  He was instantly hard, imagining those lips in that exact same position, only aimed at his cock instead.  So bloody erotic, and did she have any idea what exactly she was doing to him?  Part of the vamp wondered if it was a calculated attempt to get a rise from him, or whether this was just another shade of Slayer seduction wrapped in Buffy innocence.

Bloody hell.

An even bigger part didn't really care.  Not when he felt like this.  Don't argue with it, mate, he thought.  Just enjoy it while it lasts.

"What time did we stop?"  Her voice was muted, matching the mood of the dimly lit room, but she didn't move, keeping his hands lightly clasped in hers, even after she was done with the cream.  Somehow, she couldn't bring herself to stop touching him.  The netherworld of her dreams had been ghosted with firm lips pressed to hers, strong arms cradling her against a firm chest, the throb of punk music echoing in glistening trails across their skin.  Logic told her she was taking a huge risk by opening this door, by allowing possibilities to take form and intrude on her day-to-day life, but for once, Buffy didn't feel like listening to it.  "I don't remember much after falling asleep."

"Just before noon.  Thought I'd grab me a catnap while you were still out of it."

A quick glance at her watch.  "And it's just after three now."  This time, she raised her eyes, meeting his for the first time since coming to his side.  "Are you still tired?  Because if you need more---."

"You'd be surprised what'll do me," Spike replied huskily, and extracted his hands from hers, straightening in his chair.  "If we get back on the road now, we'll be Big Easy way just after midnight."  The corner of his mouth lifted.  "S'long as you promise to let me sleep when we get there, that is.  Can't go on this way indefinitely, you know.  Gotta get myself sorted sooner or later."

She smiled in kind.  "No, really?  And here I thought the Big Bad was a tough guy.  Turns out he needs his beauty sleep just like the rest of us."

"You could stay awake for a century and still be beautiful, pet."  The compliment was past his lips before he could stop it, and when Buffy flushed in embarrassment, standing and turning away from him, Spike mentally kicked himself, grimacing and shaking his head.  Oh, sure, play the poncy git when she's just making with the funnies.  That's not goin' to scare her away.  Not at all. 

"I think we'll probably end up beating Willow there, don't you?" she was saying, busying herself in packing away the scattered bits from the first aid kit.  "No way can that Freddie match your pace.  Not if he's human like Tara says."

"That's probably goin' to work to our advantage," Spike replied.  "We'll have time to do some pokin' around before they get there.  I know some people---."

"You keep saying that.  Are these people people, or are these demon people?  Because I'm not sure I'm really big on the needing to rely on a demon thing."

"A bit of both."  He stopped, his face suddenly serious.  "You're gambling on _my aid here, Slayer, and last time I checked, I had myself a tent in the demon camp.  Or…were those noises of gratitude just that?  Noise?"_

Buffy waved her hand in dismissal.  "That's different.  You don't count."

"Oh?  And why's that?"

She seemed surprised by his change in attitude, eyes widening as she looked at him.  "Hello?  Chip, remember?  You can't hurt me.  Or my friends.  Ergo, not a worry.  Not really."

Even though the words were true, it didn't lessen their sting, and the vampire scowled, ducking his head.  "Way to go for boostin' a bloke's ego, Slayer," he groused.

"Because your ego is in such danger of deflating, right?"  She rolled her eyes.  "Try it on someone who doesn't know you so well, Spike.  This girl's not buying."

She had turned her back on him, returning to her tidying, when she felt his hand wrap around her arm, swivelling her shoulder around so that she was forced to face him.  There was a flash of furious blue and then his lips came crashing down on hers, bruising her mouth in a ferocity that had nothing to do with the tenderness that he'd exhibited out under the stars, and everything to do with danger teetering on the edge of a cliff, threatening to jump and take everything with it.

It was over before she could respond, leaving her gasping, staring up into Spike's demon visage, his golden eyes ablaze in a combination of righteous fury and sorrowful bitterness.  How even his vampire gaze could convey so much, she had no idea, but before she could even think to move, he had closed the gap between them again, his tongue darting out to the edge of her lip, catching the drop of blood that was beading there.

"Don't think a moonlight kiss means you can just slip your leash over this vamp's neck and he's not goin' to notice," he murmured, his cheek hovering just millimetres from hers.  Even just a drop of her blood, that pungent Slayer lifeforce he'd thought he craved, burned his throat in an agonizing fire that made his erection throb within his jeans, forced the adrenaline through his veins with the force of a hurricane's gale. Not the smartest thing he'd ever done, he decided.  Drinking at the font of temptation when they still had miles to go was sure to drive him to distraction.

"Or that this little piece of plastic in my skull means you've sussed me out for good," Spike added before she could respond.  His game face slipped away, and he pulled back so that he could meet her startled gaze.  "You don't even know the half of what you're playin' with here, pet.  That's not to say I'm not lookin' forward to the game, but maybe you should consider reading the whole rulebook before you go makin' your next move.  'Cause underestimating the other players?  Surest road to gettin' yourself hurt."  He pulled back and nodded toward the door.  "Now, why don't you be a good little Slayer and scamper off to check us out of this joint, eh?  The sooner you settle the bill, the faster we can hit the trail."

Buffy frowned as she watched him brush past her, frozen in her spot as his words whirled around in her head in a riotous melee.  "What're you doing?" she asked as he picked up the telephone.

"Gettin' our New Orleans accommodations sorted," came the reply.  "I don't really fancy any more hotels, do you?"

Her voice was faint, her confusion still supreme.  "I guess not."  Her hazel eyes swept over the breadth of ebony as he stood with his back to her, punching in a series of numbers on the touchpad.  OK, admitting to herself that she was attracted to Spike had been a Goliath step for her.  She had even been enjoying the camaraderie that had been developing between them ever since they set out.  But his words---not a threat, but a promise that there was so much more she was only beginning to grasp---underlaid those emotions with an intoxicating thrill, tipping all of it on end, as if someone much bigger than she had picked up her world like a giant snowglobe and given it a hearty shake.

It was going to be interesting to see where they all landed once the flakes settled.

*************

His hands were shaking as he pulled over to the side of the road, his face even more pale as he rested his forehead on the steering wheel.  The tremors that were vibrating through his body could have been withdrawal symptoms, or from some sort of fever, or a reaction to the weather.  

They were none of these.  

What shook Freddie now was fear.

A glance into his rearview mirror betrayed Willow's sleeping form slumped in her seat, the slightest of sheens causing her freckled cheeks to glow.  In spite of the circumstances, she had been quite cooperative, and he'd even ventured to remove the tape from her mouth this afternoon so that she could have a real lunch, instead of some vitamin shake.  She'd just glared at him the entire time she'd eaten the sandwich, those green eyes doing their best to immolate him on the spot, but she'd remained silent until he'd started tearing a fresh strip of tape from the roll.

"I don't like you very much," she'd said tightly, her lips thin.

Her words had made him smile, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye as he returned the tape to the toolbox.  "That's perfectly all right, darlin'," he'd replied.  "You never have."

Once she was back in place, he'd popped in the cassette Stella had specially made, watching the redhead slowly drift to sleep as the sultry songs orchestrated specifically for this purpose suffused the air of the van in piquance.  For a bit there, Freddie's own lids had started to droop, but a quick stop at a gas station and two extra-large coffees later, and he was back to himself, head clear of the music's allure.  

It had taken two hours for her to stir.  He'd expected a little bit of movement---he'd loosened her bonds slightly when they'd stopped for lunch---so the first rustling hadn't garnered more than a quick glance in his mirror.  It wasn't even the second that jarred the toolbox at her side.

It was the third.  The one that picked up the box of cassettes from the passenger seat and slammed it into his side.

Plastic had gone flying as the wheel jerked in his hands, and Freddie had fought to regain control of the vehicle, small eyes darting from the road before him to the redhead straining against her bonds.  As quickly as he could manage, he'd popped the tape out of the player, turning the radio on to a country station in an attempt to clear the air of the effects of Stella's singing, and then watched as Willow immediately relaxed, her mind slipping into a normal sleep, the effects of her power dissipating like smoke.

He _had_ been warned.  He'd even seen evidence of Stella's power more than once.

All of that was nothing like the raw sway that had erupted from Willow.  And in her sleep.  

It wasn't supposed to be like that.

As he took a deep breath, Freddie waited for the shaking to subside, rubbing at the mark on his wrist that seemed to be pulsing in rhythm with the unseen power behind him, trying to will away the rising sense of dread in his stomach.  Stella had said this could happen, but she wasn't worried about it.  

He had to trust in her.  It's all he'd ever done.  

He couldn't afford to stop now.

To be continued in Chapter 8: On Green Dolphin Street…


	8. On Green Dolphin Street

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.  And the chapter titles are courtesy of Miles Davis.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Anya is beginning to have suspicions about why Halfrek warned her away from New Orleans, and Buffy and Spike are treading new ground in their relationship as he reminds her just what exactly she's getting herself into prior to their arrival in the Big Easy…

*************

Not talking once they got into the car had seemed like a really good idea at the time.  With the sudden shift in their relationship, and Spike's dangerous promise of things she was only beginning to grasp, Buffy didn't think she was in any position to try and be all normal girl with the conversation, or banter girl, or even pissed-off Slayer girl, for that matter.  What she didn't realize was that if Spike wasn't talking, it meant _she_ wasn't talking.

And if she wasn't talking, that meant she was thinking.

And thinking plus a confused-slash-uncomfortable Buffy did not add up to kittens and daisies.

It still took her an hour to work up the nerve to get her vocal cords to work.  That was exactly fifty-eight minutes after she'd reached the decision that any mental processes that she could achieve at the moment would only serve to heap on the pile-o-rama of tension that was already tapdancing inside her head.

"I can't believe it's still so hot," she finally managed.  Inwardly, she groaned.  Ohmigod, I'm talking about the weather.  Pathetic much, Buffy?

The look he shot her was quizzical, that eyebrow cocked in mild amusement.  "That's because it's still summer, pet," he replied.  "Time hasn't decided to do a runner for it just 'cause you're stuck in here with me."

"It's not so much being stuck.  It's more like…mutual tolerance.  Right?"

"Is that what we're calling this?"

"Calling what?"

"You.  Me.  The troika of kisses."  He smiled, his eyes reverting back to the road ahead.  "The fact that we both want more of that."

"Oh."  It had to be a new record for her.  From weather talk to making out talk in three sentences flat.  Maybe she would've been better off thinking instead of talking after all.

"Callin' it mutual's all well and good," Spike was continuing, "but, have to say, the fact that you're ownin' up to your share of responsibility here is making me start to get fussed about this mess Red's gotten herself in."  The look of confusion she shot him caused him to chuckle.  "Buffy Summers admitting she's got a yen for the Big Bad?  Sounds like the fifth horseman of the apocalypse to me."

"What?"  Her indignation, in spite of the tease in his tone, caused her to sputter.  "I don't have a _yen.  Why would you say I have a yen?  I am most definitely yen-free.  Yen-free Slayer here, at your service."_

The long slide of his eyes over her sweating form brought a flush to Buffy's cheeks, and she folded her arms across her chest, turning her head to stare down at the map that rested in her lap.  Crap.  That even sounded double entendre-y to her.  Knowing Spike's passion for all things lewd and lascivious, it was no wonder he was looking at her like something to eat.  And not in a bloodsucking kind of way.  More in a lay back and spread those---.

It was all she could do not to groan out loud at the sudden sensations that were tingling her thighs as the thought of Spike's mouth anywhere near her sex effectively skewered all the rational ones she'd been trying so desperately to cling to.  Who did she think she was kidding?  Those fantasies she'd been so quick to dismiss prior to their little road trip had been brought out in glorious Technicolor at the first kiss they'd shared in front of Fang, and to deny what he was saying now sounded absolutely ludicrous, even to her.  Capital Y, capital E, capital N.  Any more capital and she'd need to declare herself a state in order to accommodate it.

"No need to get your knickers all in a twist about it, pet," Spike said, and though the amusement still clung to his voice, there was a somnolent caress to his tone that almost immediately soothed some of the scattered nerves that had escaped Buffy's control.  "Truth be told, as delicious as it sounds to have that gorgeous mouth of yours 'fess up to what you're actually feelin' for a change, I'm not so sure my head's straight enough at the mo' to do this particular topic of conversation the justice it deserves.  Not to say it won't happen.  But maybe not just yet."

"So…all that stuff back at the hotel.  Does this mean you were just trying to mess with me?  Because that is _sooo_ not the way to ensure you make it to New Orleans outside of a vacuum cleaner bag, Spike."

"Ah, now on that, you're not gettin' off quite so easy.  Now, on the odd occasion, my mouth _has_ been known to have a tendency to get ahead of my brain, yes.  But not back there."  He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.  "Meant every word, Slayer."

The silence that ensued wrapped both of them in heated arms, losing them in the whirlwind of thoughts that rambled through their heads.  So many questions…so many bewildering feelings…not very many satisfactory answers.  Buffy was grateful for the reprieve he had offered her, but as she sat there, listening to the road whoosh by in a comforting rhythm, part of her mused on the vampire's implicit confession.  

In spite of his earlier bravado, his reluctance to discuss it now---not that she could, not in any intelligent fashion at least---showed her that he was just as rattled by the shift in their relationship as she was, albeit seemingly more in control as to how it affected him outwardly.  Spike never seemed to be lacking in the insight department, and the fact that he was withholding those opinions he held so near and dear to his heart was ample evidence for her that this was just as much of a shocker to him as it was to her.

And now she was stuck thinking again.  If only…

He was the one to break first.  "If you think it's hot now," he said, the huskiness that had accompanied his previous words replaced by a more neutral mirth, "just wait until we get to New Orleans."

*************

Eight hours, two bathroom pitstops---

_"Told you not to get the extra five ounces on that Slurpee, Slayer."___

_"But they were free!"_

_"Free does not always equal good."_

_"That's rich, coming from the guy who does his home shopping at the junkyard.  Is that this month's decorating tip from Better Crypts and Graveyards?"_

_"Just because I nick most of my stuff doesn't mean I don't have discerning tastes.  Just means I know how to save my pennies for the important stuff of life."  He'd grinned.  "Like a lovely, flowing, streaming rush of---."_

_"If you don't want me to ruin your precious leather seats by having an accident, you will not finish that sentence."_

_ "You're sure you don't want me to just pull over?  Think that tree's got your name on it, actually. Oh, wait.  My mistake.  Just a bit of black rot."_

_"Ha ha.__  Very funny."_

_"That one's leaves don't look too rash-worthy, though.  Your delicate little Slayer thighs should be safe as houses usin' those.  All the conveniences of caveman plumbing, right there at your fingertips."_

_"Bite me, Spike."_

_"Love to, pet, but something tells me if I did that about now, you'd bust open like some over-ripe tomato."_

---and several states later, Spike was rolling to a stop on the darkened street, the faint sounds of a trumpet filtering through his open window, punctuated by the occasional bark of laughter.  __

At his side, Buffy dozed in a light slumber, thin tendrils of her hair clinging to her sweat-beaded forehead.  She had fallen asleep just before they'd hit the city, and though she had voiced a growing excitement about their arrival while they chatted, Spike didn't currently have the heart to wake her.  She'd see enough once they were settled, he reasoned.  In searching for Red, she'd probably be in and out of every cranny the place had to offer just to root her out.  Besides…

His gaze softened as it glided over the curve of her cheek, absorbing the relaxed set of her mouth before settling on the visible pulse at the base of her neck.  Letting his thoughts stew in the back of his mind while they'd talked today had given him permission to admit at least one thing to himself; for whatever reason, he needed her to be all right, to get what she needed, what she wanted, and right now, what she needed was sleep, time to rest to prepare for the stress of what lay ahead.  He wouldn't be the one to take that away.

Why he felt like this, Spike wasn't sure.  The world's a more interesting place with her in it and all that rubbish, he thought distractedly, fighting the urge to reach out and brush back the hair that fell over her face.  Wanting to shag her was one thing; he knew how to deal with that.

Wanting to protect her was entirely different.

Carefully, his hand dropped to the door handle, easing it open with a slight creak that made him grimace as his eyes darted over to the Slayer.  No movement.  Good.  He'd be in and out before she even knew he was gone.

*************

She didn't know what wakened her.  One minute, she was asleep.  The next, her eyes had fluttered open and she had realized the car was no longer moving.

Sitting up, Buffy frowned as she saw the empty driver's seat, leaning over to peer out Spike's still-open window.  We can't need gas again, she thought irritably.  I swear this thing guzzles like there's no tomorrow.

What met her eyes, though, was a sight she hadn't expected to see quite so soon.  Sure, he'd told her that they would probably arrive some time in the middle of the night, but part of her hadn't really believed the vampire.  He had a way of exaggerating even the smallest of details to the point of non-recognition, making it hard to know just when he was stretching the truth.  This looked to be one of the non-stretchy variety.

A narrow city street lined with a row of darkened buildings, most of them with balconies on their second floors, greeted her.  It was difficult to see what exactly they were for---they could have been homes or offices for all Buffy knew---but, from the structure directly opposite the car, the unmistakeable blare of a trumpet coaxed its way into the moonlight, with the rolling bass of accompanying drums following, almost causing the street to vibrate in concord.

It was too late for that to be happening anywhere but at a club, she thought.

Which meant they were there.  In New Orleans.  Finally.

But…where the hell was Spike?

As she climbed from the car, Buffy grabbed her bag, making sure to slip the stake that had been rolling around beneath her feet into one of its inner compartments.  Better to be safe than sorry.  If this is one of Spike's favorite cities, no doubt other demons feel the exact same way.

Outside the DeSoto, the air was pungent, a combination of sticky pastry sweetness, smoke, and raw sewage that the Slayer wasn't too sure she found agreeable.  Eau de Big Easy, she thought.  The unique perfume was nothing, however, compared to the heat that rippled visibly in front of her, closer even than it had been in Sunnydale, immediately drawing whatever fluid that was in her skin to the surface.  Doesn't matter about the smell, she grumbled as she made her way to the club door.  I can't breathe in this anyway.

*************

The keys dangled from the demon's hands, catching what little light was in the bar and scattering it in individual shards across Spike's cheeks.  "I even had someone go in and change over all the sheets," it said brightly, a too-eager smile creasing its scaled face.  "Black satin.  Just like you like 'em."

"Thanks."  The vampire took the overlarge ring, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he straightened his shoulders.  So far, so good.  Nobody was acting like they knew what had happened to him in Sunnydale, and as long as this crowd didn't learn he was working with the Slayer, this little escapade for Red could still turn out to be fun.  Just had to make sure he didn't lose his Big Bad image.  Might put a crimp on things if he had to suddenly start defending himself for betraying his "kind."

"I still can't believe they changed the name of the street, though," he said disdainfully.  "Whatever happened to taking pride in your history?  Totally strips me of my faith in humanity."

The demon laughed, too loud in its desire to please.  "It won't last long," he assured.  "As soon as someone offs the guy who bought the block, they'll change it back.  Just wait."  His face brightened.  "Or you could do it.  I can tell you where he lives, where he works.  Maybe even sell a few tickets for when you do it.  Nobody puts on a slaughter like---."

"Spike?"

Fuck, the vamp thought, as her blonde head appeared at his elbow.  This would've gone _so_ much easier if she'd just stayed in the bloody car.

Outwardly, he gave no indication of being flustered, and instead turned to gaze down at Buffy.  "Thought you were sleeping," he said, his tone light but slightly brittle.

"I was.  And now I'm not."

The demon watched them with a frown.  "Who's this?" he asked.

Hazel eyes hardened as they swivelled to look at Spike's companion.  "I'm Buffy.  Who the hell are you?"

"Pablo."

Her gaze swept over his seven-foot frame, taking in the dark red scales and bony musculature.  "Huh.  You don't _look Mexican."_

"And you don't look like Drusilla."  Pablo turned back to Spike.  "What's going on here?  How come you're hanging around with…"  He stopped, sniffing pointedly at the air before screwing up his face in disgust.  "…a human?   I always thought you and Drusilla were forever.  Don't tell me you gave her up for…for…for _this_."

"We---."

"_She_ dumped _him_."

Spike's jaw clicked in anger at the interruption, his head tilting to look at Buffy in irritation. She appeared calm, totally at ease considering she had just started them down the path of too-many-questions, and her hands hung casually at her side.  He caught a glimpse of the stake she had grabbed in her half-open purse.  Bugger.  The bitch was going to get them both killed if she kept this up.

"No way!"  Pablo's beady pink eyes went wide, darting between the two blonds, noting the sudden closure over the vampire's face before returning to Buffy.  Obviously, she was going to be the one who was going to spill on the details.  "What happened?"

She shrugged.  "Chaos demon.  I guess that little antler fetish of hers finally got too tempting to ignore."

In spite of his annoyance, Spike snorted in amusement, catching the twinkle buried in the depths of her eyes before relaxing his guard.  Buffy wasn't stupid.  She wasn't about to start something when she knew they were going to have to rely on his contacts in order to find Red.  Better to give the demon the gossip he was looking for and get going, before more awkward questions got asked.  If they got the proper story out there now, they could count on Pablo to spread the word so that they wouldn't have to go through this every time.  And she was smart enough to have sussed that out already.  Wonder if she'll ever stop surprising me, Spike thought, draping his arm protectively over Buffy's shoulder.  Here's hoping not.

"Riiiight," the vamp agreed.  "Turns out, I was the wrong kind of horny for Dru."

There was a pause.  "That still doesn't explain why you're with…_her."_

Beneath his touch, he felt the Slayer tense, and wondered momentarily if she was going to crack.  Hold it together, he thought.  Just stay with me here until I can get us out of this.

But she beat him to the punch.

"Since when does _Spike have to explain _anything_ to someone barely qualified to be the stick that scrapes the mud from his boots?" Buffy said.  Her voice dripped in ice, and when Spike glanced down at her, there was no mistaking the fiery glints flashing in the grey-green depths of her eyes.  Ever so casually, she tossed her hair back, inadvertently exposing the column of her neck, the scar she bore from Angel's bite all of a sudden in full view._

She would never come out and say anything, but that didn't mean she wouldn't give the rumor mill plenty of ammo to get it started.

Pablo's gaze widened at the sight of the bite, darting from it, to Spike, to Buffy, and then back to Spike.  The question faded from his eyes, to be replaced by the same respect that had been gleaming there when she'd first arrived.

Affecting his best smirk, the vampire hooked his thumb through his belt loop, lowering his head just enough so that his blue eyes glittered dangerously through his lashes.  "I'll get back to you on that whole slaughter business," he drawled, and began sauntering away, Buffy tucked firmly against his side.

*************

He waited to speak to her until they were back in the safety of the car.

"So, care to enlighten me on that little display in there?" Spike asked, his head tilted, watching her in hungry curiosity as she strapped herself into her seat.

Studiously, she avoided his eyes.  "Just because I'm blonde, doesn't mean I'm stupid," Buffy said.  "It's not like I haven't been in a demon bar before.  Slayer, remember?  Part of the job description."

"You know he thinks you're some kind of thrall now."

"Well, duh.  That was the point of the whole hair thing.  I'm quippy girl, not flippy girl, in case you haven't noticed."  She sighed, stretching her neck to the side to work out the stiffness from her sleep.  "I saw how he was looking at you, like you were some kind of god or something, and figured that if he was typical of your contacts here, it would probably be better for your image if I looked harmless."  She smiled, finally turning her gaze to look at him.  "Besides, that should work to our advantage in the long run.  Element of surprise.  I can be your secret weapon."

He had nothing to say to that.  Hearing her refer to herself as something that belonged to him---even indirectly---sent an unexpected trill down his spine, and he settled himself back, hand going automatically to the keys in the ignition.  _Your secret weapon, she'd said.  _Yours_.  _

He liked the sound of that.

"Did you get what you came here for?" she was asking, and he had to stop himself for a moment to refocus on the here and now.

"Yeah," Spike replied.  "Pablo's the bloke I called about getting our accommodations sorted."

"Don't tell me we're staying with him."

"We're not.  We're staying in a flat he rents out as part of the tourist trade."  At her quizzical stare, he elaborated, "We're not paying for it, if that's what you're fussed about.  We don't have the kind of dosh Pablo usually gets for his places.  I just…called in a couple favors."

"Oh."  She was silent as the car pulled out into the street, staring out her window.  "So, it's not around here then?"

"No," came the answer.  "Faubourg Marigny.  Off of Elysian Fields.  On a street that now carries the unfortunate moniker of Green Dolphin."

*************

As glad as she was to finally be in New Orleans, as glad as she was that she was one step closer to getting Willow back, even as glad as she was that she wasn't going to be cooped up any longer in the stuffy DeSoto with its definite lackage of air conditioning…Buffy kind of regretted that it was dark when they arrived.  Though there were some streetlights, Green Dolphin turned out to be more of an alley, very dimly lit, and she could barely make out their destination as Spike eased the car to a stop.

The flat in question was actually a tiny cottage, renovated from disarray to a quaint standard that she was sure the tourists found charming.  She as hell sure did.  The details were next to impossible to make out, but as Spike fumbled with the keys, muttering something under his breath about "soddin' too many," Buffy let her fingers intertwine with the vines that clung to the walls, breathing in the earthy pungence that evoked images of winding roads under blazing summer skies.  She waited on the threshold when he finally got the door open, listening to him fumble for the light switch, unable to refrain from giggling when she heard a sharp thud followed almost instantaneously by a, "Bloody hell!"

"You OK in there, Spike?" she called into the darkness.  "You didn't get jumped by a big, bad boogy man, did you?"

She was answered by light, a warm incandescence flooding from the narrow entry, and saw the platinum blond rubbing at his ankle, glaring at the offending hat stand that stood sentry on the other side of the entrance.  "Stupid place for it," he muttered, and then turned on his good foot to turn the lights on in the rest of the house.

It wasn't what she was expecting.  Maybe she'd had delusions of Southern grandeur, pictures in her head from Civil War movies of sweeping staircases and elegant wooden furniture.  Whatever the cause, it didn't prepare her for the ultra-modern décor, the polished black marble floor gleaming up at her in decadent insouciance, the plush white leather couch opposite the fireplace, the chrome and glass accessories scattered throughout the open living area.  In the corner, near a set of patio doors that led to a midnight garden, sat a black baby grand piano.  Cool air wafted from an invisible source, chilling the sweat that clung to her skin, the barely audible hum of the conditioner underlying the ambience like a throaty chuckle.

Buffy's eyes widened, her duffel frozen on her uninjured shoulder.  It was probably a good thing they _weren't paying for this; no way could this fit into Giles' modest Watcher budget._

It took her a moment to realize that Spike was no longer in the room, and she pivoted on her heel, skidding slightly against the polish, as she looked around for other exits.  A stainless steel kitchen, separated from the lounge by a curved breakfast bar, was empty, as was the surprisingly enormous black and white bathroom just off the lone hallway.  That left only one other door, and hesitantly, Buffy nudged it open.

"We got us a little problem," Spike said, his arms folded across his chest, hands tucked inside his armpits.  He wasn't looking at her when he spoke.  Instead, he was gazing at the king-sized bed in the middle of the room, the plethora of white pillows at its head beckoning to the Slayer to come and join them in repose.

"I'm going to guess this is the only bedroom," she replied, measuring her words carefully.  "Unless there's some secret passageway behind the fireplace or something that leads to another wing that we just can't see from the road.  Because you know, there's always a secret passage in these kind of places."

"Bugger," the vamp said under his breath.  "I should've been more specific when I called.  _'Course there's only the one bed.  The prat thought I was comin' in with Dru."_

"So?  It's no big.  We'll just share it."  That made him turn, raising his eyebrows in surprise, and Buffy flushed.  "I meant, in an alternating way.  As in, I get it, then you get it, then I get it, and then you get it.  An every other night deal.  There's a perfectly good couch out there we can use as well, you know."

"You sure about that?  'Cause I've got no problems with---."

There was no mistaking his leer.  "No.  Not going to happen, Spike."

He shrugged.  "Problem solved then."  As he began to brush past her, he was stopped by her hand on his arm.  "What?  We have to sort out bathroom passes, too?"

Her words were hesitant, the hardness from her previous denial gone.  "I…I was just going to say, you know…you can have it tonight.  The bed.  You've been all Driving Miss Buffy for over two days now.  This should give you a chance to get caught up on your sleep."

Her offering was unexpected, and Spike tilted his head, eyes narrowing as he scanned her face.  "Thanks," he said, and slowly reached up to casually brush back a lock of hair that had fallen over her shoulder.  He fully expected her to stiffen, to pull away and slug him right before she called him a monster, but for some reason, he didn't care.  He just had to touch her.

She didn't do any of that.  Instead, she just stood there, staring up at him, her normally easy-to-read face suddenly inscrutable to him.

"I'm goin' to go unload the car," he said, reluctant to leave her, but knowing it had to be done sooner or later.  "Feelin' a bit peckish, I think."

"Oh!"  The mention of food sparked the synapses in Buffy's brain to fire, and she frowned.  "If Pablo thought you were coming with Dru, does that mean there's nothing for _me_ to eat in the house?"

"There won't be much," he agreed.  "Just some basics.  But you can run out in the morning and pick up some supplies while I'm sleeping.  Plus, I'll give you the name of a butcher where you can go pick me up some more blood.  My stocks are runnin' low."

"Oh.  OK."  He was almost out the door when she spoke up again.  "Don't plan on getting used to being coddled, Spike.  Once you're fully rested, I fully intend to see you pulling your own weight around here."

"Well, I plan on pullin' something…" he responded with a chuckle, and disappeared into the hall.  Thank god for English-isms and Buffy's lack of sense when it came to them, he thought.  If she knew he meant he planned on getting to her, he wasn't sure he'd be making it through the night dustfree.

*************

She was already curled up on the couch, changed from her clothes into shorts and a t-shirt, when he came back in from the car.  "That didn't take you long," Spike commented as he headed for the kitchen.

"Five years of slaying and sneaking out of the house really hones your dressing speed," she replied.  "You'd be surprised at how fast I can move if I set my mind to it."  

"Promises, promises," he murmured good-naturedly as he poured out a blood packet into one of the mugs.

"What was that?" she called from the living room.

"Nothing!"

He knew he didn't have any real reason to be feeling this way, but somehow, Spike couldn't shake the sense of domesticity that had settled over him ever since arriving in New Orleans.  Well, since Buffy had stood up to Pablo, that is.  He'd been so looking forward to prowling around his old haunts, but now, his passions seemed to be diverted elsewhere, his thoughts lingering on introducing her to some of the pleasures the city had to offer.  Oh, sure, they had this business about Red to sort out, but that didn't mean they couldn't have fun at the same time, did it?"

"Don't forget to write down the name of that butcher before you go to sleep," Buffy reminded him when he emerged from the kitchen, his mug of warmed blood cupped in his hand.  "And is there a map or something to help me find my way around?  Playing Christopher Columbus is all well and good when you're on vacation, but I don't want to waste an entire day if I get lost."

Spike gestured toward a small desk against the wall.  "There'll be touristy rigamarole in one of the drawers.  Just help yourself to whatever's there.  You can always ask the locals questions, too.  They're used to it and generally can be pretty friendly about the whole matter."  

Her gaze flickered to the furniture in question before sliding back to him.  "You know what I just realized?" she said.  "There's no television.  What are you going to do during the day when I'm gone?"

"There is a telly.  It's in the bedroom."  He grinned.  "Pablo and I go way back.  He knows me pretty well so he made sure I was set up here proper, just the way I like it."  His grin softened.  "And since when are you worried about me bein' entertained outside of your presence, Slayer?"

"I'm not.  It's just…just…"  She floundered for a moment, searching for a valid excuse.  "A bored Spike will go looking for something to keep him busy," she declared triumphantly.  "And you and I both know that doesn't always turn out very pretty."

Spike chuckled.  "Got me there," he admitted.  A few steps toward the bedroom, and he stopped, ducking his head to look back at the blonde.  She had already stretched herself out, golden hair splayed over the large armrest, hazel eyes dancing over the immaculate furnishings.  "And, Buffy?" he murmured, waiting for her to look over at him before continuing.

The fact that he'd used her given name didn't go unnoticed by the Slayer, and she felt her heart pounding inside her chest as she looked up at him.  He was etched in chiaroscuro relief against the walls, a study in shadows surprisingly resplendent.  No wonder Pablo had picked this place for Spike, she thought.  It suited him perfectly.  All black, and white, and hard edges, and plush surprises.  "What?" she said, her voice barely a breath.

His words were coated in caramel, his eyes almost ebony as the irises consumed the blue.  "Don't be thinkin' I've forgotten about what I said in the car," he warned.  "There's a lot for that beautiful head of yours to wrap itself around, but, just so you know, I plan on bein' there when it does.  Just a bit knackered right now, is all.  Maybe I'm all mouth and no trousers here, but I don't think so.  Fact is, you and me both know something happened last night and it wasn't just gettin' yourself stuck on that vamp's blade.  It was…well…"  He stopped, his tongue running over the edge of his teeth while he contemplated his next words.

"Bloody spectacular," Buffy murmured, repeating the description he'd used when she'd pressed on the exact same issue, her gaze locked on his.

The corner of Spike's mouth lifted to hear the awkwardness of the slang fall from her California tongue.  "Yeah," he agreed, and turned back toward the hallway, his voice trailing after him.  "G'night, luv.  Sleep tight."

To be continued in Chapter 9: Footprints…


	9. Footprints

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.  And the chapter titles are courtesy of Miles Davis.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Spike and Buffy have finally arrived in New Orleans, while back in Sunnydale, the Scoobies are facing their own dilemmas in the search for Willow…

*************

He was trying to be as quiet as possible as he reshelved the books.  A very late call from Buffy had informed the small group of her safe arrival in New Orleans, refueling the Scoobies' vigor in research.  As a result, both Xander and Tara had stayed up until well past six that morning, and were now collapsed in slumber on either end of the couch.  Even Anya, who had shown up on Giles' doorstep the previous evening with no explanation for her earlier absence, had done her share, even if she didn't last nearly as long as the others.  Giles was chalking that up to her relatively recent incorporation into the gang.  Tara might've been newer than the ex-vengeance demon, but at least her commitment to finding some answers could be explained by her devotion to Willow.  Anya really had no such ties.

The stack he was carrying slipped precariously within his grasp, and Giles quickly fumbled with the uppermost tomes, leaning them against his inner arm as he fought to regain control.  The top book skittered to the floor, landing with a quiet thump against his toes, and the Watcher winced as he crouched down to pick it up.  Over the open pages, however, his hand hovered, his eyes narrowing as he squinted to read the fine print surrounding the exposed picture.

It took only a moment for him to set the others in his hold aside, picking up the escaped text and crossing hurriedly to the desk where his glasses sat.  Another quick perusal, this time with his spectacles firmly in place, deepened the frown on his face, and his head lifted to stare at the sleeping ex-demon in the chair.

"Anya," he said quietly, hoping she would wake up without disturbing the others.  

There was no response.  

"Anya," Giles repeated, this time a little louder, his feet stepping involuntarily closer to her as if the reduced distance would aid in rousing her.

Still nothing.

Using his finger as a page holder, the Watcher tucked the book against his chest before striding to her side, reaching down to tap her lightly on the shoulder.  "An---," he started.

She jerked at the first touch, eyes flying open to stare wildly around, little recognition for her surroundings in the brown depths.  "Not the black bunnies!" she shrieked, pressing herself back into the chair, her breathing suddenly ragged.

Her reaction startled Giles, driving him back by a step, while at the same time, it incited Xander's own awakening.  It took only a moment of confused blinking for the young man to focus on the situation, and in a flash, he was up and at her side, brushing the hair away from her forehead, making calming shooshing noises under his breath.

"It's OK," he soothed.  "It was only a dream.  Everything's all right."  He smiled as she visibly relaxed, leaning her head against his hand.  "Which one was it this time?"

"The one with David Copperfield and the roulette wheel."  She scowled.  "I _hate that man."_

"What's going on?" Xander asked, looking up at Giles.  "I thought we agreed that the occasional closing of the eyelids was acceptable.  Did somebody change the rules while we were out of it?"

The Watcher held up the book, baring the title for both of them to see.  "Did you go through this as I requested, Anya?" he asked.

She squinted, scanning the name of the text.  The smallest of hesitations separated the crease in her brow from the eventual nod of her head.  "You saw me reading it, Giles.  Just like you saw me reading the other four hundred and twenty-three books you asked me to look at.  There wasn't anything in it that would help Willow."

"Really?"  He flipped the book open and extended it so that the page was again exposed.  In its center, amidst a table of similar drawings, was an engraving of the same circle marking that had adorned Freddie's wrist.  "Did we decide that our only clue as to Willow's current predicament wasn't worth further inquiry then?"

Rising to his feet, a frowning Xander took the book from Giles, scrutinizing the picture before looking back at Anya.  "How'd you miss this?"

She shrugged, striving for nonchalance even as her heart pounded in her chest.  "The pages must've been stuck together."

As if to test it, the young man flipped the pages of the book, watching as they flowed smoothly with a hushed whisker, then returning to the one in question.  "Maybe you were just tired," he said, but a flicker of doubt lingered in the timbre of his voice.

"Being tired does not exclude her culpability here," Giles admonished.  He walked over to the stack he'd been returning to the shelves.  "If she was too tired to satisfactorily do the research, she should've taken a break earlier.  As it is, we're going to have to go back through the books she's already checked.  We can't afford to miss anything else at this stage."

The frosty tone of the Watcher's voice caused Anya to bristle, and she rose from her chair, hands on her hips.  "It was an honest mistake," she argued.  "I can't believe you don't trust me."

"Now, Ahn, that's not what he said---."

She jerked away when he tried to touch her arm.  "You're supposed to be on my side, Xander Harris.  Isn't that what people in relationships do?  I've certainly supported you, even when you looked like a complete ass.  Or have you forgotten the dead armadillo debate---?"

"I'm just saying, maybe there's a good reason why you missed this."

"And there is.  The pages were stuck together."  Her voice was hard, her words clipped, and she waited expectantly for one of the two men to respond.  When she was met with silence, she threw up her hands and marched to the doorway.  "Fine.  Be that way.  If I'm so untrustworthy, obviously my research skills are no longer required.  Not like a chart of gardes is going to be much good to you anyway.  It didn't even have the name or location of the djab it represented in there."  Twisting the doorknob open, she shot one last angry glance over her shoulder.  "Have fun trying to find Willow," she barked.  "Try not to get dead."  And with that, she left the apartment, slamming the door behind her.

The reverberations it left in the room startled Tara into waking, and she sat up, blinking against the morning sunlight.  "What was that?" she queried softly.  "Did I miss something?"

"OK, color me confused," Xander said, staring at the door.  "Now, I know that particular bunny dream has a tendency to leave Anya a tad on this side of crabby, but…whoa.  That was extreme even for her."

Without saying a word, Giles extracted the book from the young man's grasp and quickly scanned the text.  His frown deepened as he flicked through the pages, finally looking up to meet Xander's bewildered gaze.  "The discussion on djabs is on three pages prior to this chart," he said quietly.  Two sets of eyes turned to the door.  "How did she know that's what the chart was for?"

His mouth was grim as he began heading for the door.  He didn't know why she'd been hiding the information from them, but that was a thought for another day.  "I'll go get her," Xander said.

"What was that all about?" Tara asked again once she and Giles were left alone in the apartment.

He handed her the book.  "We know now what the mark on Freddie's wrist was."

"What are these?"

"Gardes.  They're used in vodou culture as both a magical shield from djabs and as an identifying mark for worshipping members."

"And a djab is…?"

Absently, Giles removed his glasses and rubbed at his eyes.  "Literally, it means devil, from the French _diable_.  In this context, though, they are lesser spirits than the traditional lwa of vodou.  More individualistic.  Their primary function is for magic rather than religion, rather like providing a service in return for proper payment."

"So Freddie is a member of some vodou group worshipping some unknown djab?"  Even the usually open-minded Tara sounded skeptical at this explanation.  "But what does that have to do with Willow?"

"I don't know," the Watcher admitted.  "But perhaps if we can discover the identity of this spirit, we might have a better clue."

The young witch rose from her seat, yawning widely as she followed Giles back to the stack of books he'd abandoned.  "Is Anya all right?" she asked quietly.  "She was so…jumpy last night, but I thought it was just because of the research.  She didn't seem to like any of the books you gave her to read.  She kept asking me to trade with her."

The unsolicited confirmation of his fears regarding the ex-demon didn't register on Giles' face as he began sifting through the piles, removing the titles that bore any relation to the topic of vodou.  Somehow, Anya knew more than she was letting on, but for whatever reason, she wasn't sharing.  Perhaps she considered her reasons valid.  Frankly, he didn't care.  He wasn't about to let anything happen to Willow, just because Anya had some hidden agenda.  If Xander didn't return with her firmly in tow, Giles would go out and bring her back himself.

*************

She was lost.

In spite of having the map from the desk, and in spite of the directions she'd gotten from the old lady with the glass eye, Buffy had still managed to turn herself around enough so that she wasn't even sure which direction was which anymore.  Not that she really cared because she was having fun just taking in the local color, but Spike might have a few choice words if she showed up back at the house without his blood, simply because she couldn't find the butcher he'd mentioned.  Not to worry, she thought.  I'll just get it later.

She knew she was in the French Quarter, and from eavesdropping on some of the tourists that seemed to have multiplied like bunnies as soon as she'd emerged from Green Dolphin Street, Buffy had learned that she had stumbled onto the outdoor market, a popular shopping area for the locals and tourists.  The aroma of freshly ground coffee mingled with the spiciness of herbs she didn't recognize, and it set her stomach to growling as she walked past the open stalls of fruits and vegetables, smiling at the various vendors who called out to her as she passed, each of them pressing her to buy his or her wares.  It didn't take her long to succumb to her hunger, purchasing a small bag of apples to munch on as she walked.  

The farmers' market merged into the flea market, a mishmash of tie-dyed dresses, carved masks, and mass-produced "stained glass" very obviously designed for the tourist trade, with the odd silver designer shop thrown in for good measure.  For a brief moment, Buffy considered buying something to take back---maybe one of those blackface pecan-shell magnets, or some of that hot sauce---but then memories of why exactly she was here in the first place took hold, and her step returned to the path before her.  Willow.  She was here for Willow.  This was save-her-best-friend time, not be-a-gawking-tourist time.  There'd be time for sightseeing later.

Turning herself around, Buffy made her way back to the produce stands, buying some more bits to take back to the house.  When one of the vendors smilingly suggested she try something more exotic, she hesitated before nodding in acquiescence, deciding this would be her daring tourist act for the day.  Food out of the way, she knew there was no more putting off finding the butcher and found a quiet nook away from the hustle and bustle to more closely examine her map.

"Can't find what's not lost," a throaty voice chuckled from behind her.

The startled Slayer jerked her head up, twisting her torso to look at whoever had spoken to her.  In the doorway of the shop she sat in front of, lounged a heavyset black woman, her fleshy arm oozing over the doorjamb from the weight that pressed against it, a jangle of beads hanging from her neck.  A wide smile creased her weatherworn face, lighting the black of her eyes with a merry twinkle, and Buffy felt herself relaxing in the woman's presence.

"Well, since I'm the one lost here, I don't think finding myself's going to be a problem," she replied.  She gestured toward the map.  "I'm just trying to find---."

"Alain's."

Buffy frowned.  "How'd you…" she started, only to see the name and address Spike had written out for her sitting in plain view on the ground between them.  She smiled, her disquiet ebbing.  "Oh.  Right."  She hesitated.  "I don't suppose…you can tell me where Burgundy Street is?"

"On the other side of Bourbon.  Not too far from here.  Very walkable."  Her eyes narrowed, and her smile faded as she watched the young blonde begin the arduous task of refolding the map.  "He has after dark hours as well, you know," she finally ventured.  "You should tell your…friend…to fetch it for himself."

In spite of the heat, her words sent an icy chill across the Slayer's skin, and she slowly lifted her hazel gaze to meet the black one boring down at her.  "What are you talking about?" she asked slowly.

The woman laughed.  "Alain's is a highly specialized market, and it is _very_ obvious…"  She looked up pointedly at the sunshine that beat down on Buffy's bare legs.  "…that _you do not wish to purchase his wares for yourself."_

"You knew it was a him, though."

"Because I can see him floating all around you, darlin'.  Smiling.  Laughing.  You're all covered with him."

The chill had begun to seek into her flesh, and Buffy rose to her feet, holding her map and purchases close to her body.  "Are you a witch?" she quizzed, senses alert.  It had to be the only explanation.  Why else would she claim to be able to know about Spike?

Another laugh, deeper this time, rolling in amusement.  "Lord, no.  I just…see things.  That can't surprise you.  Someone with your kind of power must have friends who are just like me.  Enemies, too, I'd reckon."

"Yes.  No.  I don't know."  She shook her head, as if by doing so that would cause the confusion to settle into something she recognized.  "You said, I'm _covered in Spike?  What is that supposed to mean?"_

"Is that his name?  Spike?"  The woman nodded.  "Fitting."  Her eyes twinkled.  "You might want to tell him to try experimenting with color, though.  He may like the black, but one of these days, he's going to need to wrap himself in red if he wants to stay safe from the serpent."

Now it was just getting weird, and Buffy's feet began inching their way backwards.  "I'll…tell him that," she said, choosing her words carefully.  "And…thanks for the directions.  I'll just…be moseying on along…"

  "Wait."  There was no mistaking the command in the voice, and the Slayer stopped automatically, scolding herself even as she did so.  "Wait," the woman repeated, and disappeared just inside the shop.

This was her chance to run, to leave the crazy woman far, far behind, but Buffy's feet refused to move, waiting patiently on the walk until the woman reappeared.  As she approached, Buffy focused on the string that now dangled from her thick fingers, the small leather bag swinging gently from it.

"You have not been in my city long enough to have got one for yourself," the woman said, and placed the string around her neck, letting the charm nestle in the vee of her tank top.  "This is a gris gris."   She pronounced it _gree__ gree, her accent lilting against Buffy's ear.  "Even those who are chosen can need protecting sometimes."_

The Slayer didn't say a word, keeping her gaze locked to the other's as she backed away, waiting until there was several feet between them before turning around.  OK, first thing I do when I get back is have a word with Spike, she thought determinedly as she hastened her step.  Nowhere in the brochure did it say anything about psycho locals making with the mojo if you parked yourself on their stairs.  Somebody should've warned me.

*************

The forest pulsed with life, from the slight rustle of the wind through the leaves overhead, jostling them aside to expose the errant stars to the ground, to the faint skittering of insects beneath the undergrowth that sprawled across the forest's bed.  Even the smell of fresh rain that hung in the air filled Spike's body with the tremors of life, and he inhaled deeply, drinking in the offering as if his existence depended on it.

He knew right away he was dreaming.  He may have been proud of his body, as far from shy as one could get without getting arrested---although that had certainly happened on more than occasion, much to the chagrin of more than one dead police officer---but as far as he could remember, he'd never stood naked in the middle of a rain-soaked clump of trees before.  Not that he wouldn't have if the need had arisen, but the whole thing smacked of something ritualistic, magic, which, in Spike's personal experience, never usually amounted to anything good for him.

So it was a dream.  Had to be.

He stood at the start of a dirt path, facing the depths of the forest with that surety that could only be provided by dreams that he was supposed to go into it.  His blue eyes lowered, watching the mud created by the recent downpour squelch between his toes, smiling slightly as he wriggled them in the mire.  Something about playing in the muck brought out the kid in him, not that it needed much impetus, and he was about to squat, to scoop a handful of it up so that he could feel it slide between his fingers when he saw them.

Footprints.

The unmistakable outline of small feet disappearing into the darkness.

Right then, he thought.  S'posed to follow.

So follow, he did, being careful not to disturb the marks of the one before him, walking slightly to the left of the path as he wound his way through the trees.  Deeper, and deeper, and while the shadows grew longer, they were punctuated with increasingly brilliant patches of moonlight, shimmering the green of the foliage so that it gleamed in a radiance that made the poet in him want to resurface.  He fought the instinct, though, keeping his mouth silent, traveling further into the woods with an uncharacteristic silence.

It wasn't a clearing as much as a widening of the path, and Spike stopped when he saw her sitting on the wet earth.  The rain had soaked her through, gluing her golden hair to her neck in individual strands, drenching the gauzy gown so that it molded to her flesh like a second skin.  Her nipples were hard beneath the dress, twin shadows that made his mouth water, and as his gaze slowly slid down her torso, lingering on the curve of her hip, her giggle echoed throughout the forest.

"Took you long enough," Buffy said, a smile playing on her lips.

"Didn't realize there was a time limit," Spike replied.  The sound of her voice tore his eyes from the promise of her skin, and he found himself shocked by the vibrant green staring back at him, shimmering with the same life that permeated the trees, reflecting their emerald hues in spite of the lack of sunlight.

"I have an expiration date, you know," she said.  "Kind of comes with the job.  That's why I have to grab what I can, when I can."  Her smile grew wistful, pulling at Spike's gut, drawing him a step closer.  "Except sometimes I forget that.  It gets hard.  You know.  Saving the world has a tendency to be mildly distracting."

"Can't say that I've got any personal experience with that, pet."

"You helped me with Angel, remember?  The big giant stone statue ready to suck in the world?"

"And I didn't stick around for the curtain call, if you care to think back.  Me and Dru were halfway to the border by the time you finished up there."

"But you still helped," she argued.  "You can't deny that.  You can't deny what you did."

"I did it for Dru.  Nothing altruistic about it in the slightest.  Makes a world of difference."  Why was he having this argument? Spike thought.  Usually, when he dreamed about Buffy, it involved fists, sometimes fangs, very often other body parts as well.  This sudden penchant for conversation was unnerving.

"And driving me to New Orleans now?" she continued.  Slowly, she rose to her feet, but didn't move from her spot, the gown falling in sticky folds to wrap around her legs.

"Funny what the promise of bodily damage to my person can motivate me to do."

"That's a load of bullpucky and you know it."  Defiantly, she folded her arms across her chest, but instead of hiding her breasts, they thrust out over them.

His eyebrows shot up in amusement.  "See, now I _know this is a dream 'cause no way would the Slayer ever use the term 'bullpucky.'"_

"Someone's being Mr. Avoidy," she singsonged.

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am _not_."

"Are too."

"Am not!"

"Are…"  She sighed, shaking her head.  "This is _such a waste of this dream, Spike.  We can go on and on like this until you wake up, but then where will we be?"  Her eyes softened, gazing at him in a way the vampire had never witnessed outside of his own imaginings.  "You saw a path, and you chose to follow it.  Why is it so hard for you to admit that you __wanted to do this?"_

"Y'know, this whole metaphysical debate with myself might work a helluva lot better if you didn't look like the Slayer."

She clucked her tongue, frowning in mock admonition.  "There's Mr. Avoidy again."

Spike growled, but was unable to take his gaze from her, watching as she just waited for him to respond, those green eyes driving into his chest to pluck out the truth, forcing it to his tongue.  "So…I like Red.  S'not a crime.  She's smart, and she's got a rough lot sometimes gettin' stuck in the shadows.  I can relate to that."

"And?  What about me?"

Another growl.  "You know I want you, Buffy."  He could move then, muscles stretching to step forward, sapphire glued to her face as he closed the distance between them.

"And?" she breathed as he stopped just inches from her.

"And?"  Spike frowned.  "And?  No and."  His hand came up, began tracing the line of her clavicle through her dress.  "Just want."

"There's always an and."

"Y'know, I'm thinkin' Dream Buffy's just as much of a stubborn bint as Real Buffy."  He remembered his nudity then, the prickles in his mouth wetting his tongue as it ran along his teeth, his cock throbbing where the tip brushed along her fabric-covered waist.

She laughed, and edged herself closer, allowing his hardness to nestle between their bodies as her arms lifted to around his neck.  Skimming her lips along his jaw, she stopped just beside his ear, her breath fanning warmly across his skin.  "Like you hate it," she teased.

"Uh huh, hate you, Slayer," he breathed, eyes fluttering shut as he savored her nearness.  

"That's why you followed me, then?  Because you hate me?"

"Followed 'cause you left a path a mile wide."

"Exactly."  Tiny teeth caught his earlobe, tugging at it gently as she pressed herself against his lean form.  "Why do you think that is?"

"Don't…know…"  Christ, how'd she expect him to think when she did that?

"C'mon, Spike…think about it…"

"Can't…"

Her mouth was open now, against his neck, sucking at his jugular with an insistent rhythm that matched the throbbing in his cock.  His hands curled into her waist, the moan escaping from the back of his throat as the world eddied around him.  When he felt her slide back up to his ear, he almost pulled away in frustration, his need for her to continue straining against his skin.  Stop talkin', he wanted to say, but couldn't, locked within her embrace as sure as if she'd lashed him to her.

The ringing that came from her mouth wasn't what he was expecting, though, and Spike stiffened, confusion tempering his desire.  "What was that, luv?" he asked, his voice husky.

There was another ring, this time more shrill, more insistent.

Sounds like a bloody phone, he thought…

*************

The third ring woke him up.

Spike's body jerked reflexively against the white comforter, sliding along the satin sheets as his arm shot to grab the phone that sat on the nightstand.  "What?" he barked roughly into the receiver.

A moment of silence preceded the slight cough from the line's other end, and the vampire fell back against the pillows, rubbing sleepily at his eyes.  "Bloody woke me up, Rupert, you know that, right?"

"I'm…sorry, Spike.  I assumed Buffy would answer."

"Well, you know what they say about…Never mind.  What's so damn important you're callin' and disturbing my beauty sleep?"

As Giles relayed the findings from that morning, Spike scrabbled for a pencil and piece of paper from the nightstand, jotting down a few notes as the Watcher spoke.  Better to get this right from the starting gate, he thought.  If I mess up the Slayer's first real leads for findin' Red, she'll stake me for sure.

"Is that it?" the vampire asked when Giles fell silent.  

"We're still…looking," came the reply.  "Unfortunately, Xander was unable to find Anya, and rather than waste more time looking for her, we focused on the books she'd supposedly checked last night."

"Any idea on why she'd scarper off like that?"

Spike could almost hear the rubbing of Giles' glasses through the phone as the Watcher sighed.  "Not really," he admitted.  "She's been acting…odd since Willow disappeared.  Well, odder than her usual.  Xander seems to think she may know something more than she's tellin'."

Spike snorted.  "Doesn't take a genius to suss that one out." 

"He's going to resume the search for her now that we've covered the texts she didn't.  I'm certain we'll have some sort of explanation for all this before the day is through."  There was an awkward pause.  "How are…you?" Giles asked, his voice tentative.  "Buffy merely said the pair of you had arrived safely when she rang last night.  You don't…sound as if you're…worse for wear."

"Nah," Spike said.  "You don't have to worry about your Slayer goin' Rambette on my undead ass.  She and I came to a…"  He grinned, glancing down at the erection that still lingered from his dream.  "_…mutual_ understanding.  I scratch her back…"  He had to fight not to chuckle.  "…and she scratches mine."

Relief flooded through the phone.  "I'm glad.  I was…worried you would be unable to work together on this.  I can't believe I'm saying this, but your help will be invaluable in our retrieving Willow safely, I'm sure.  I…appreciate what you're doing."

The twinge of guilt that sprung in his stomach took the vampire by surprise, and his smile faded.  "Hey, now, Rupes," he warned.  "Don't you be goin' soft on me.  Or is this all part of your higher callin' rigamarole you were spoutin' at me in my crypt not too long back?  'Cause I told you then---."

"Yes, yes, I remember.  You're not a white hat, Spike.  I'll make sure it gets announced at the next meeting, just so everyone is clear."

It was all he could do not to slam the phone down.  Soddin' Watcher was _laughing_ at him!  There was no mistaking the patronizing tone of the Englishman's response as he pretended to play along, and Spike pursed his lips to stop himself from saying something that would only get him into trouble with Buffy if she found out.

"You do that," he said tersely.  "Are you 'bout done?  Because I've got a few more hours of sleep ahead of me.  Made record time on this road trip, not that you care, but I just _know the Slayer didn't tell you.  Think that merits some extra shuteye, don't you?"_

"Yes, quite."  He chuckled.  "Tell Buffy I will call if we learn anything else."

Spike glared at the phone after he replaced in the cradle, anger at how the Watcher was perceiving him roiling in his gut.  Not a white hat, he groused.  Big Bad here.  Just doin' this to get nearer to Buffy.  That's all.  No other reason.

Dream Buffy's words came back to him then, and the vamp scowled.  All right, so _maybe_ he was a _little concerned about the witch.  Didn't make him a bloody good guy, now did it?  Just meant…fuck…he didn't know what it meant._

His blue gaze flickered over the paper he still held in his hand, and his brain automatically began ticking over.  This kind of information actually narrowed down the search parameters considerably, whether Rupert realized it or not.  With this kind of a lead, Spike knew exactly who he needed to go to.  It just meant making a few more phone calls.

Before he knew what he was doing, the phone was back in the vampire's hand, the number punched in automatically.  It wasn't until he heard the demon's voice on the other end that it dawned on Spike how quickly he'd gone into doing what he could to help Buffy and her friends.  Not goin' to think about it, he decided.  Just goin' to do this, and get it over with so me and the Slayer can get back to the important stuff of figuring out what the hell is happening between us.

Out loud, he affected his most Big Bad voice.  "Need you to do some things for me, Pablo," he said.

To be continued in Chapter 10: 'Round Midnight…


	10. Round Midnight

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.  And the chapter titles are courtesy of Miles Davis.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Buffy and Spike are in New Orleans, with some fresh information from Giles regarding a starting point in their search for Willow…

*************

Pablo was the last person she expected to see when she pushed open the front door of the cottage, juggling the bags in her arms.  "I didn't realize you did house calls," she said cautiously, hazel eyes darting around the empty room.  "I wish I'd known before I spent the day getting lost in this place trying to find what I need."

"Only for Spike," the demon said.  "Just making sure my favorite vampire is happy, is all.  I was just leaving."  He pressed himself into the wall, allowing her to pass without having to touch him, not even bothering to disguise the wrinkling of his nose as she went by.

Buffy frowned when she saw the stacked gift boxes behind the couch, setting her own shopping on the breakfast bar.  "You have Saks here?" she asked, turning back to look at him.  A pang of disappointment that she hadn't found it herself during her excursion was quickly pushed aside.  Probably couldn't afford to buy myself anything anyway, she thought.  Not without either Mom or Dad's credit card in my hot little hand.

He nodded.  "Over on Canal Street."

"And those are here because…?"

"Because…I picked up some stuff for Spike."

Her frown deepened.  "What kind of stuff?"  Her curiosity was getting the better of her, and she took a step toward the couch.

"Stuff that gets a certain perky little blonde spanked if she goes pokin' around it without askin'," came from Spike behind her.

Buffy stopped, turning to see the vampire lounging against the door jamb to the bedroom, arms folded across his chest, a dangerous glint in the depths of his eyes.  A sharp retort sprang to her lips, only to freeze there when she remembered the demon behind her, and the Buffy-is-a-thrall show she'd initiated last night for his entertainment.  Damn.  

"That a promise?" she teased instead, tilting her head seductively as she glanced at Pablo out of the corner of her eye, trying to gauge if he was buying it.  Not that this was really all that hard, she thought.  Though she had yet to see Spike today, the memory of their innuendo from the night before clung to her with silken fingers, and she felt her face begin to flush as she gazed at the blond vamp.

Spike chuckled.  God, he loved this game, and by all appearances, so did Buffy.  He felt his cock harden inside his jeans and straightened so that it wouldn't be quite so noticeable, hands dropping to loop through his waistband.  "Only one way for you to find out," he drawled.

The sound of Pablo's feet scraped across the marble floor, though neither of them turned to look at him.  "Don't let me disturb your little lovefest," the scaled demon said.  "Even if it does turn my stomachs.  I'll see you tonight, Spike."

"Yeah.  Tonight, mate."

She waited until she heard the door close before moving, pivoting on her heel to break the spell that had settled between her and Spike to walk determinedly to the boxes.  "So, really, what's in here?" she quizzed.

His hand had wrapped around her wrist before she could remove the lid from the uppermost package, pulling it away with a cluck of his tongue.  "I'm guessin' you were always the first at the Christmas prezzies," Spike said with a smile.  "Thought Slayers were supposed to be all patient-like."

"I'm just wondering why _I_ had to go out if you had Pablo the personal shopper on retainer the entire time," she replied.

She hadn't pulled herself away from his grasp, Spike realized.  In fact, she was just standing there, looking up at him quizzically, waiting for him to answer, not even the usual pissed-off, you-annoy-me-just-by-being-here look in her eyes.  "'Cause I don't think you want to be tryin' to explain why I need someone to fetch me takeaway when I'm s'posed to have my meals on tap right here," he murmured, and let his thumb caress the vein in her wrist, feeling her pulse through the fleshy pad.

That was enough to remind Buffy, and she carefully extracted her hand, stepping away so that she could regain control of her traitorous heartbeat.  She'd been doing so well, too, she thought.  She'd gone most of the day without thinking about him---well, too much---or the kisses they'd shared, or the way his cool touch seemed to enflame her, even with the most casual of caresses.  Once he'd walked into the room, though, all of that disappeared faster than donuts around Xander, and she struggled to appear as nonchalant about it as possible.

"Good point," she conceded.  "But it still doesn't explain these."  She gestured toward the boxes.

"Rupert called.  Seems like they've got a bit more information."  Briefly, Spike explained to Buffy about the vodou link.  "And if that songbird's got some kind of wonderful goin' on in the vodou world, I know exactly where we can go to get the dish on her," he finished.

"And that merits the Saks spree…how?"

"The bird we need to talk to wouldn't let us two feet inside her place without lookin' the part," he explained.  He picked up the top box, lifting the corner nearest him to peek inside.  When Buffy ducked her head to try to see what it contained, he snapped it shut, tossing it aside to pick up the second.  "You weren't around for me to ask, but I'm laying odds you didn't pack for this possibility, so I called Pablo and asked him to bring around something that might work."  A glance inside the second box seemed to satisfy him and he passed it to the Slayer, not even waiting for her response before doing the same with the third and fourth.

The look she shot him was wary as she crossed to the couch, sitting down before pulling the lid off the top box.  "Don't know why I need…" she started to say, only to stop, eyes widening when she saw the red evening dress folded carefully inside.

"Like I said," Spike drawled, surprisingly pleased when he saw the delight flicker in the hazel depths.  "Something tells me you weren't plannin' on playing Cinderella while we're here."

Quickly, Buffy tore the lids off the other boxes, exposing two more dresses, one sea-green and the other black.  "And the reason there's three?" she asked, unable to tear her eyes away.  

"Thought you'd like a choice."  He watched as she rose to her feet, pulling each from its wrapping to hold it up in front of her, unable to hide her smile when she saw the various accessories accompanying them.  This was something he'd done more than once with Drusilla, buying pretty frocks to try and distract her from the increasing delusional spells she'd suffered from, knowing she would thank him afterward with kisses and blood.  He could hardly expect the same from Buffy, but for some reason, he didn't care.  Just witnessing the unadulterated joy on her face was all the thanks he needed.

"Do I want to know how you paid for these?" she asked, absorbed in examining the beaded handbag that had been nestled in with the red dress.

Spike grinned.  "Let's just say, I'm probably goin' to have used up all those favors I had owed to me by the time we blow this town," he replied.  Picking up the box he'd tossed aside, he tucked it under his arm as he stepped toward the bedroom.  "Pablo's sendin' a car around at sunset to pick us up," he said.  "You want the shower first, or do you mind if I take it?  I haven't been able to wash up proper since Rupert called and woke me up."

"You go first," Buffy said distractedly, and then realized what he said, looking up at him with a tiny frown.  "A car?  What about that bucket of bolts that got us here?"

He shook his head.  "For some reason, my baby doesn't meet Iris' standards."  When she laughed, he merely rolled his eyes.  "It's a classic, I'm tellin' you.  She's just as blind as you are.  There's absolutely nothin' wrong with it."

"You just go on believing that, Spike," Buffy giggled.  "The rest of us will just enjoy the twenty-first century in the grand comfort to which we've become accustomed."

She was lost in the gowns before her, and Spike turned on his heel to head to the bathroom, knowing it was pointless to continue this conversation any longer.  "Sunset," he reminded her.  "Which means you've got about two hours to pick one and get ready.  I don't want to be late.  Iris doesn't usually hang out there all night, so if we want to make sure we catch up to her, we have to be there early."

"Sure.  Whatever."

A pause at the door, and the vampire looked back to see her holding the black dress up to herself again, twirling slightly as if she was pretending to dance.  The corner of his mouth lifted wistfully.  "Not that it makes a difference," he said, and waited to continue until she looked up to meet his gaze.  "But, I like the green one."

*************

Her foot tapped impatiently against the marble floor as she glanced again at the clock on the wall.  Sunset, he'd said.  You've got two hours, he'd said.  I don't want to be late, he'd said.  And now here she was, dressed to the nines, and Spike was nowhere to be found.

Actually, she knew where he was to be found.  The chipped vamp was currently locked in the bedroom, and she could hear his occasional curse filter through the walls, a crash of something being thrown periodically punctuating his swearing.  She'd knocked on the door once, to let him know that she was ready, but had been violently rebuffed by a vehement, "Bugger off!"  Since then, she'd left well enough alone, figuring he'd emerge when he was done, more than once wondering just what was happening on the other side of that door.

A quiet rap led her to the front entrance, and Buffy pulled it open to see a man in a dark suit on the step.  "I'm here with the car," he explained, nodding back to the road where the silver outline of a luxury sedan sat waiting.

"We'll be right out," she said.  No more stalling, she thought as she marched over to the bedroom, and lifted her fist to pound on the wood.  "Spike!" she called out.  "The car's here!"

"Fuck," she heard from inside, followed by a heavy sigh.

When the door opened, Buffy was standing at the couch, reaching for the silk wrap that rested there.  "Took you long enough," she said, and turned to face him, stopping in mid-swivel at the sight that greeted her.  Though the idea that wherever they were heading was someplace that dictated eveningwear, the Slayer hadn't really given any thought as to what that would mean for Spike, so lost she was in the indulgence of getting dressed up herself.  Now, though, she found herself wondering why, as her hazel gaze swept over his lean form.

No jeans.  No t-shirt hugging those tightly defined muscles.  No boots clomping heavily across the floor.  Instead, the polish on his dress shoes rivaled that of the floor's, while black tuxedo trousers hung gracefully from his narrow hips.  The crispness of his white shirt accentuated the breadth of his shoulders, almost daring her to come over and rip it off him, and she found her mouth suddenly dry as the image of what he'd look like just in the pants danced before her mind's eye.  The matching jacket hung from one hand, while the black tie dangled from the other.

He was glaring at the narrow ebony strip when he walked through the door, head bowed.  "Can't get this bloody thing on right," he growled, and his fingers tightened on the fabric.  He lifted his eyes.  "Dru always…"  Spike's voice trailed off, his features softening when he saw her standing across the room, all thoughts of the quarrelsome item of clothing vanished from his head as he found himself drowning in Buffy.

She'd chosen the green after all.  Chiffon silk that shimmered in the light of the room, it clung to her curves as it fell to the floor, allowing only the very tip of her sandaled foot to poke its way out.  A single strap over her left shoulder, fastened with a gold rhinestone clasp in the shape of a vertical bow, allowed the gentle drape of the fabric to cling to her breasts, while the sleek upsweep of her hair exposed the column of her neck in such a way as to make his mouth water.  The realization that she had selected the gown he'd preferred was lost to him, though, temporarily overshadowed by the struggling poet within him bursting to come out and expound on her glory.

She was radiant, the beauty he'd always known her to be allowed to shine without the fetters of her calling for one of the few times he had witnessed since first meeting the Slayer.  At that moment in time, she was merely a woman---which actually seemed a horribly inadequate term in light of how he was reacting to her---glowing from that inner strength he so begrudgingly admired, reaching into his chest to palpitate his heart in a coercive attempt to beat for the first time in a century.  He was torn between wanting to take her on his arm and show her off to the world, and just taking her, period, right there on the white leather couch, to feel the silk of the gown crumple beneath his fingers as he fought to reach the softer silk of her skin.

"The…car's here…" Buffy breathed, and the mere sound of her voice shattered the spell that bound the vampire, reminding him why exactly they were dressed this way.

"Right," he said.  He held up the tie.  "I don't s'pose I could get your help with this, pet.  It's been awhile since I've had to fuss with one and without a mirror…well, without a _reflection_…"

"Is this what's got you all growly?" she teased, crossing to stand in front of him.  Nimble fingers plucked the fabric from his grip, and Buffy reached up to slide it around his neck.  "I hope you didn't break the bed in there.  It's my turn to get the room, remember."

The touch of her fingertips as they brushed against his neck seared rational thought from Spike's mind, and he gazed down at the top of her head, watching how she bit at her bottom lip as she struggled with the tie, forcing himself to stay still even though his every muscle screamed for release.  "Just…don't like…askin' for help," he finally managed to say.  "Feel enough like a poofter as it is."

The knot was done, and Buffy gave it a final pat as she looked at it with satisfaction.  "Well, you don't look like one," she said softly.  Her body didn't seem to want to move away, his proximity acting like a drug to her system as her hand lingered at his neck, her gaze suddenly fascinated by the minute scar on his chin.  The urge to dart forward and run her tongue over it caused her to color, but even that wasn't enough to force her to break away.  "You look…very nice."

His eyebrow lifted.  "Nice?" he teased.  "That all?"

Though she smiled, she couldn't seem to meet his eyes.  "I don't see you handing out compliments on how I look," she replied.  "So, you get nice."

When she finally turned away, the space where she'd stood yawned like a canyon before him, and Spike's hand darted out to close on her shoulder, staying her motion, the tenuous strap under his fingers suddenly reminding him that it was the only thing holding up the delicate material of her gown.  His eyes were dark as he met the green now boring into him.

"Absolutely breathtaking," he murmured, and then smiled, unable to resist adding, "If I had any breath to take, of course."

His joke made her giggle, and she stepped back from his loosened grip, picking up the wrap she'd dropped over the back of the couch.  "The car's waiting," she said as she headed for the front door.  "We better go.  I want to find this Stella before she does anything to Willow."

Spike trailed after her, long arms sliding into the sleeves of his jacket as he moved.  "So, you got yours," he said.  "Where's mine?"

Buffy hesitated, her hand on the knob.  "Dapper," she finally said.  "You look dapper."

His moue of disappointment was more put-upon than anything else.  "That the best you can do?" he complained, watching her disappear through the entrance into the darkening night.  "I give you breathtaking, and I just get _dapper_?  Dapper's a nancy boy word!"  The laughter that floated back to him made him smile, though, and Spike just shook his head as he followed after the Slayer, his expectations about the night ahead swelling inside his chest.

*************

As they stood just inside the entrance of the club, Buffy's gaze swept over the crowd, every man in a tuxedo, every woman in an evening gown.  She'd been wondering about feeling conspicuous on the trip there, but that fear was now banished as Spike's hand settled in the small of her back, his fingers electric through the delicate fabric of her dress, the pressure slight as he guided her toward a small table near the dance floor.  Her Slayer senses were going overboard, and she realized with a start that nearly everyone in the place was a vampire, the few exceptions being the occasional misplaced demon dotted throughout the crowd.

"This is a demon bar," she hissed under her breath as she slid into the chair Spike pulled out for her.  "What is it with you and taking me to demon bars?"

"First off, Midnight's not a bar," he said, lifting a finger to get the attention of one of the waiters.  "It's a very posh, very exclusive nightclub, and if Iris hears you callin' it a bar, she's goin' to kick the pair of us out of here faster than you can pull out Mr. Pointy."

She waited until he was seated before speaking again.  "And this Iris can tell us where Stella is?"

"If she can't tell us exact, she can at least aim us in the right direction.  Vodou is a little hobby of hers."  He turned in his chair when a waiter appeared at his elbow.  "Glass of O-neg for me and…"  He looked expectantly at Buffy.

"Just water," she said, eliciting a sigh from Spike and a small frown from the waiter.

"I'm sorry---," the man started, but was cut off by a small wave of the vampire's hand.

"She's new in town," he explained, throwing the Slayer a condescending look that made her bristle.  "Just bring her a glass of Chardonnay."

"Spike," she said sharply.  "I don't do wine.  Alcohol and Buffy are very non-mixy things.  And hello?  Underage here.  Aren't they going to get in trouble for serving to a minor?"

Doing his best to appear casual, Spike leaned across the table, taking her hand in his and running a lone finger along the inside of her palm.  "The last thing a tasty little morsel like you should be fussed about in here, luv, is whether the management cares if you're under the legal drinking age," he said in a low voice.  "In case you haven't noticed, even the pair of us together might be just a tad outnumbered should someone decide to challenge me for your…attention."  The way his tongue glided over the last word told Buffy it wasn't her attention he was talking about, and her body involuntarily tensed, readying itself for a battle even though no one seemed to be paying them any extra notice.  

"Now," Spike continued, his finger still tracing hypnotic invisible paths along her veins, "if you don't want to get tossed out on your ear before we even get to see Iris, you'll shut your gob and let me take care of this."  He smiled, but she wasn't sure if it was part of his façade for the crowd or one of genuine mirth.  "Besides, whoever got drunk on one glass of wine?"

She pulled from his caress, inwardly seething but shooting a saccharine smile to the waiter hovering behind the vamp.  "Glass of Chardonnay, please."

It wasn't until they were alone again that Buffy spoke up, her smile gone.  "This whole thrall act is getting old _very_ fast," she complained.

"Believe it was _your_ idea, pet," he said, tilting his head as he gazed at her.  The bite of disappointment rose in his throat, but he swallowed it back, maintaining his calm exterior as he searched her face, trying to determine if it was just general irritation at her current helplessness or something more genuine directed at him.  Was he reading everything that was going on between them wrong?  He'd woken from his rest that day with a clearer head, deciding that pursuing the physical relationship with her was not only a good idea but something he actually wanted.  She was gorgeous---seeing her in that dress certainly clinched that one---and when she wasn't being a complete bitch in trying to make him feel like something she found stuck to the bottom of her shoe, she was fun to be around, that sexy vulnerability she kept so well hidden shining through her Slayer exterior.

Shit.  And maybe he was thinking too much about this.

"I know," she conceded with a sigh.  Her gaze strayed to the band up on the stand, her body beginning to sway unconsciously to the strains of the saxophone that undercoated the ambience in caramel.  "So where's this Iris person?  Can we just see her and get this over with?"

"You don't go to Iris," Spike said.  "Iris comes to you."

Her eyes went wide.  "You've got to be kidding me!  How in hell is this going to help us?  She doesn't even know we're here, or that we want to talk to her, or---."

The vamp's smile was tight as the waiter appeared from nowhere, setting the drinks down before them.  "Trust me, pet," he said.  "She knows."  He'd barely lifted his blood to his mouth before Buffy had the wine to her lips, downing the pale liquid in a long continuous swallow that mirrored her frustration with the situation, watching in amusement over the rim of his glass as she handed it straight back to the waiter and asked for another.  "What happened to being non-mixy?" he probed cautiously, sipping at his drink as his eyes drilled into hers.

"One's not going to do anything to me," she announced, her voice already just a little too loud.  "You said so."

"But you ordered another."

"For show.  I'm not having you wig out on me because I'm breaking some secret vampire drinking code, or something."  

He saw the slight tremor in her hand, the shine beginning to glaze over the Slayer's eyes.  Slamming the wine had gone straight to her head, its effects already scavenging her body.  Better not let her actually drink that next glass, he thought.  Not if I don't want some kind of scene on my hands here.  That means getting her away from the table for a bit.

"Wanna dance?" Spike asked, rising to his feet, one hand extending to her.

"With you?"  She couldn't keep the incredulity out of her voice.  "You _dance?"_

"Wouldn't be askin' if I couldn't do it," he replied.  A quick glance around brought to his attention a couple nearby vamps looking over at them, and he made a quick decision.  Reaching down, Spike took her hand in his and pulled her to her feet.  "On second thought," he said, "I'm _not askin'.  C'mon."_

There were only two other couples on the floor, but as Spike curled Buffy into his body, his fingers wrapping around hers, his hand finding that spot at the small of her back that seemed to be waiting for him, the only thing he was aware of was the heady scent of her perfume mingling with the sweetness of the wine on her breath as it wafted to his nostrils.  The color of her gown made her eyes sparkle in a radiant emerald, and he felt his muscles sing as her soft breasts pressed against his chest.  God, she was beautiful, and in his arms, and why did he ever doubt that this couldn't be a good thing?  They just fit, like he'd never fit with anyone before, not even Dru, their bodies matched in a contrast of hard and soft, their rhythms matched in an unspoken agreement as their feet carried them to the tender caress of the dance.

For a moment, his eyes drifted shut, losing himself to the moment, only to snap open when the fear that she would see overtook him.  It was only when Buffy rested her cheek against his lapel, the smallest of contented sighs escaping her throat, that he let the last of the tension in his shoulders go, his head dropping so that his lips brushed against the faintest tendrils of her hair, his eyes fluttering closed again.  

They could've been anywhere.  Under the moon.  Inside his crypt.  On top of the Hellmouth. Neither one of them cared.  At that moment, the only thing that mattered---the only thing that existed---was the world within their arms.

It was just…right.

When he felt the tap on his shoulder, Spike ignored it, hoping that by doing so, it would go away.  The few seconds reprieve almost convinced him that he'd imagined it.  When it came again, however, this time more insistent, the vampire couldn't help the growl that rumbled in his chest as he lifted his head, opening his eyes to gaze irritably at the waiter trying to get his attention.

"Iris would like to see you," the waiter said simply.

*************

She realized he was still holding her hand as they followed the waiter down the narrow corridor, but what surprised Buffy the most was that she would've been disappointed if he'd actually let her go.  He could be doing it as part of our whole thrall act, she thought, only to quickly dismiss the notion when she remembered his obvious arousal pressing against her as they'd been dancing.  No, Spike was attracted to her---of that, she had no doubt---and she was starting to think that maybe the idea that some type of relationship between them wasn't so crazy after all.  _He_ was the one who kept bringing up the idea of them talking, which frankly scared the holy water right out of her, but the fact that he _wanted to, that he was so __adamant about doing it, only impressed upon her further his seriousness about their situation._

What is it with guys wanting to talk these kind of things to death? she thought.  First Riley, now Spike.  What was wrong with just following your instincts and skipping over the talking things out phase?

_You used to like to talk_, the little voice inside her head said.  _Before Parker._

Bonehead Parker, Buffy thought grumpily.  Him and his fancy I-understand-your-pain words.  Screwed up everything in me trusting guys who say that.

But this thing with Spike could be different, and deep down, the young woman knew it.  He didn't treat her with kid gloves; he even seemed to get off on her ability to best him half the time.  And in spite of his predilection for wanting to kill her and her friends, that, too, seemed to be changing.  Just another of the surprises about him that she was discovering on this little trip to save Willow.  

Of course, there was the whole physical attraction part of it, too.  Couldn't forget that.  Would it be wrong to just indulge in something superficial for a change?  Go into it with few expectations---unlike Parker---and she couldn't get hurt.  It was definitely something to consider.

She hung back as the waiter first knocked on a closed door, then opened it enough for the pair of them to enter.  Where she'd been expecting an office, she found instead what was obviously someone's living room, decadently furnished in spicy Moroccan shades, with textures galore adorning the overstuffed couch, the hangings draped over the walls, the glass light fixtures attached the ceiling.  Standing before a lavishly stocked alcohol display was a statuesque blonde, but when Buffy searched the mirror behind the liquor bottles for the woman's face, she found herself greeted with her own reflection.

"And why, oh why, is William the Bloody deigning to play with mortals?" the woman said lightly as she poured out two shots of whiskey from the bottle in her hands.

"Good to see you, too, Iris," Spike replied, finally releasing Buffy's hand to stride confidently toward their hostess.  

When he came to a halt just a few feet away, the Slayer was shocked to see the height difference between them, the amply proportioned woman towering over him by a good six inches.  Maybe she's a vampire/Amazon hybrid, Buffy thought and found herself standing taller, watching as Iris turned to proffer one of the tumblers to Spike.

Everything about the club owner was immaculate---the carefully applied scarlet lipstick, the way her black gown hung in perfect pleats from her plethora of curves.  Her blonde hair was cropped short, but its masculine cut did nothing to detract from the very feminine aura that surrounded her.  Brigitte Nielsen on steroids, the Slayer realized.  Now _there's a scary thought._

"What you see is a helluva lot more than you're ever going to get," Iris replied, a wry smile curving her too-full lips.  "And you haven't answered my question."

"Since when do you give two figs about who's in my bed?" Spike replied.  "'Specially since you've made it abundantly clear that _you're_ not interested."  He took a step closer, his tongue darting to trace his teeth as his eyes raked over her long form.  "'Course, if you're havin' second thoughts, I might be willin' to consider makin' a change…"

"Spike!"  His name came from her mouth without thought, the sudden rise of possession in her breast overwhelming Buffy to the point of speaking.  Her feet carried her further into the room, but she stopped when both vampires turned to look at her, her gaze quizzically amused, his slightly bewildered.

"Someone's pet is just a little on the jealous side," Iris crooned.  "Don't worry, little girl.  Your Spike is safe and sound.  I have no desires to take him up on his offer.  He'd probably break within the first hour and frankly, I'm more interested in stamina than style."

"I think he'd surprise you," Buffy retorted, cheeks flaming in embarrassment.

Spike's eyes lingered on hers, trying to assess how much of this was put upon and how much was real, and she tore her own away before too much of the truth could be revealed.  Her outburst had come from nowhere, but as soon as she'd seen him playing up to the female vampire, she'd been unable to control it, and now wondered just what in hell was going on inside her head.

"Well, I will give you this, Spike," Iris said.  "You do know how to pick women who are utterly devoted to you.  First Drusilla, now this little human.  Of course, Drusilla's sanity left a little to be desired.  Is this one crazy too?  Or does she just have that daddy fixation that intrigues you so?"

Buffy's hands balled into fists at her side, and she bit her lip in order not to say something she was sure would not lead to anything good.  She _really didn't like this woman, and the sooner they got what they wanted and got out of here, the happier she was going to be._

Setting his drink on the bar, Spike leaned against it, blue eyes surveying the room.  "And here I was hoping we might be able to do some business here," he said casually.  "If I'd known you were only interested in discussing my lovelife, I'd've saved you the trouble and just dropped you a postcard.  'Dru's history.  Bagged me my own blonde.  Wish you were here.'"

Iris pouted.  "Hanging out with humans is making you boring," she complained.  "You used to be so much fun to banter with."  She sighed and crossed to the couch, arranging her long limbs gracefully amidst the large pillows.  "Fine.  Be that way.  What's the business that brings you around Midnight?"

Spike reached into his jacket and extracted the sketch he'd made earlier of Stella, handing it over to the female vampire.  "Lookin' for this songbird," he said.  "Name's Stella.  She's s'posed to be all into the vodou and since she's from around these parts, I figured you'd be just the one to tell me where I could find her, where she works, that sort of thing."

Iris' eyes were impassive as they looked over the drawing.  "She's a singer, you say?"

"Yeah.  Puts on quite a show from the way they tell it."

"Is she demon or human?"

"Human."

She shook her head, holding out the paper for him to take back.  "Sorry, Spike.  I don't think I can help you this time around."

"Can't?  Or won't?"

"Can't," she stressed.  "I've never seen that person before.  But if you want, I can put out some feelers, see if anyone else has heard of a black singer into vodou somewhere here in New Orleans."  Her smile was mocking.  "Because _that wouldn't be unusual in the slightest, you know."_

He looked like he wanted to press on the issue, but after a moment of silence, decided better of it, tucking the sketch back into his jacket.  "Right then," he said, crossing to Buffy by the door.  "We won't be keepin' you any longer.  Know you're a busy gal and all."

"Why exactly are you looking for this…Stella?"  She wasn't even looking at them when she asked, focusing instead on sipping casually at her drink.

"She's got something of mine," Buffy said before Spike could reply.  "I want it back."

Iris chuckled.  "And lovely William is playing the gallant boyfriend in helping you," she said.  "How…droll."

"Troll?" Buffy asked Spike, looking at him in confusion.  "There's a troll?"

Rolling his eyes at her linguistic simplicity, he shook his head.  "Droll," he repeated, emphasizing the d.  "Like…quaint.  Only…"  He shot Iris a dirty look.  "…not quite so nice."

The female vamp's chuckle deepened into full laughter.  "Stay for as long as you'd like," she tossed back at them over her shoulder.  "Drinks will be on the house.  For old friends' sake."

The Slayer felt Spike hesitate, his muscles tense as his hand settled at her back, and followed his gaze as he looked back at the woman on the couch.  "Thanks," he said slowly.  "It's appreciated."

*************

"Is that it?" she demanded once they were back at their table.  "Your big source, the queen of all things vodou, gave us nada.  Please tell me you've got something else for us to try, because I am less than impressed here."

"Sit back and drink your wine," Spike ordered, eyes narrowed as they scanned the club.  He was distracted, had been since they'd left Iris' quarters, and his tone was brusque as he spoke to her.

"We're staying?  That's going to waste this whole night."  Buffy leaned forward, grabbing his arm to force his attention back to her.  "She doesn't know anything, Spike.  Now, under other circumstances, boogie-ing the night away with you might be kind of appealing, but not right now, not with Willow out there somewhere.  What can sticking around here possibly accomplish?"

His eyes flitted down to her hand on his sleeve before lifting up to gaze steadily into hers.  "Hopefully, it's goin' to give us some idea on why exactly Iris is lyin' to us," he said softly.  "Because there's no way in hell she doesn't know who that Stella bird is…"

To be continued in Chapter 11:  I Thought About You…


	11. I Thought About You

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.  And the chapter titles are courtesy of Miles Davis.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Spike has taken Buffy to Midnight, an exclusive demon club owned by the vampire Iris, to get information on Stella, only to be told by the owner that she doesn't know anything.  Spike, however, believes that Iris is lying…

*************

It was weird seeing Spike treated as royalty.

It had started almost immediately after he made his surprising proclamation about Iris' duplicity.  The waiter had appeared at his shoulder, lowered his head to murmur something directly into the vamp's ear, and immediately Spike had straightened, head swiveling to gaze over at the bar, Buffy's eyes following his as they lighted on the elegant older couple that stood there.  A moment of hesitation, and then he'd nodded, the smallest of confused smiles playing on his lips.

"What's going on?" Buffy had asked.

"Apparently, my reputation precedes me," the vamp had murmured.  His face had been thoughtful as he'd turned back to the table, absently picking up his drink but not raising it to his lips.

"And?" she'd prompted.  "What's the punchline here?"

"We've been asked to join a private party for dinner," he'd explained.  When she'd blanched at the suggestion, sudden images of a score of vampires taking their turns with helpless victims popping into her head, Spike had hastened to add, "_Proper dinner.  Only a few of them are vampires."  His smile had widened.  "Seems I'm not the only one hangin' out with humans these days."_

"But what about Iris?  And Willow?  The whole reason we're here in the first place?  Just two minutes ago, you didn't want to leave."

"And we're not.  By private, I just meant only for a select few.  It's here at Midnight."  He rose to his feet, setting down his glass and extending his hand for hers, waiting distractedly for her to take it.  "We can still keep an eye out here," he'd said.  "And you've got the bonus of gettin' a four-star meal to boot.  Iris has excellent taste in everything."

Buffy had grimaced at the mention of the female vampire, and reluctantly stood up.  "I'm sure," she grumbled.  "Because Iris is just _perfect_."  She'd dragged out the last word, feeling silly as she did so, but unable to stop the pettiness from creeping into her voice.

He'd already had his back to her, ready to pull her out into the throng to join the couple at the bar, when he heard her.  She felt his fingers tighten around hers, his blond head ducking to look back at her out of the corner of his eye.  "What's with the green?" Spike had asked cautiously.  "You were like this in Iris'---."  He'd stopped then, the mere uttering of the vamp's name sending a spiral of electricity through the Slayer's heart, her hand constricting instinctively around his.  She wasn't…was she?

"You're jealous," he'd said, and stepped around the chair to stand directly in front of her.

She wouldn't meet his eyes, hazel glittering brightly as they darted everywhere but at his face.  "Jealous?" she'd aped, and inwardly cringed at the too-high tone of her voice.  "Of what?  The fact that she can pick her own apples without needing a ladder?"

His free hand had come up to brush away the lock of hair that had loosened in her vehemence, fingertips straying over her too-warm skin, the burn traveling down his arm to heat the bowels of his flesh in kind.  "We're not even really friends, you know," he'd murmured, inexplicably needing to reassure her.  "More like…flirtatious acquaintances whose paths have crossed on more than one occasion.  Not anything to get yourself all fussed over."  Those blue eyes, now dark, had settled on the Slayer's jutting lower lip, and his mouth had watered at the memory of its taste.

"I'm not fussed.  I just…don't…like her very much."

"Why's that, luv?"

"Well, the phrase 'skanky ho' comes to mind, for starters."

He'd chuckled, and she'd thought for a split second that it was the sexiest sound she'd ever heard.  "You _are_ jealous."

"I'm _not_!" she'd protested.  "It's just…we're supposed to be having a…thing, right?  Who's going to believe us if you're drooling over every bimbo with legs that go up to her fangs?  _I wouldn't, that's for---."_

His mouth over hers had effectively shut her up, and it had taken only a moment for her to respond to the demanding pressure of his tongue, parting her lips to allow its entry, sweeping in sure strokes that forced her eyes closed.  From the back of Buffy's throat, a moan had escaped, her body leaning automatically into his as her hand went up to his neck, every inch of her begging to feel his muscled sleekness against her.

She was breathless when they pulled apart, cheeks blazing.  And the troika of kisses has now become a four-ka, she thought crazily.  Wonder if we can make it a five-ka, or better yet, six, and seven, and eight…

His mouth swept across her jaw to the pulsepoint below her ear, the tip of his tongue darting out to snag the reverberations of it into his own.  "How could you think I'd even be able to _look_ at anyone else when you taste so scrumptious, pet?" he'd murmured.  "Got me hooked good and proper, you do."

"I didn't…mean to…hook you," she'd breathed.  Why was he still talking?  Why wasn't he kissing her?

He'd pulled away then.  "Think tonight's probably the right time for us to have that little chat," Spike had said.  The glittering promise in his eyes made her flesh tingle in anticipation, but the quick dart of her gaze to the door of the club had been cut off with, "When we get back to the flat.  First, we've got some bread breaking to do."  At the obvious disappointment in her face, he added, "Maybe we'll suss out some reasons why Iris isn't coming clean about that Stella.  I'm not too keen on bein' lied to these days, even if it's to be expected from a vamp with her kind of power."

Without another word, the pair of them had joined the couple at the bar, and Buffy had been whisked away to a different table, far in the corner, seated between the other two humans in the party, a retired schoolteacher with a penchant for Anne Rice and an over-groomed tax attorney.  Within five minutes, her library of mindless chatter had been exhausted in favor of their more mundane subjects of conversation, and she'd settled herself into watching the other vampires fawn over Spike, pleading with him to share some of his and Dru's more famous exploits.

He was in his element, lounging in his chair while letting that Big Bad bravado that had been stifled so long in Sunnydale work its wonders on the other two demons, not to mention charming the pants off their human companions.  Buffy seemed the only one disinterested in the gory details, although when the issue of the Slayers he'd killed came up, she had to admit to being mildly impressed when he deftly changed the subject, the sideways glance at her more telling than any words he might've uttered.  It was genuine concern for her feelings that prompted the consideration, she recognized, and sipped at her third glass of wine in a surprised delight that seemed to come out of nowhere.  Would wonders never cease.

Dinner came and went, and though everyone else at the table seemed to be absorbed in Spike's This Is Your Life show, Buffy kept a wary eye out for Iris, hoping that the vampire would put in an appearance so that they might be able to get to the bottom of her lies.  She didn't even notice the fact that her wine glass never seemed to be empty, though she was constantly sipping at it, nor was she aware of her growing fixation on Spike.  She kept alternating between musing on Iris and staring at him intently, and when the notion that she should really take matters into her own hands popped into her head, Buffy didn't for a second question its veracity.  It made sense.  Crystal clear as only ideas can seem when one is either dreaming or drunk.  It was just too bad the distinction that she was awake, leaving only the other as an alternative, escaped her currently tipsy state.

"Excuse me," she chirped with a bright smile, dropping her napkin to her plate as she rose to her feet, weaving slightly in place as the colors of the room swam brightly before her eyes.

Spike frowned as he automatically rose to his feet, hand at her elbow as she tried to brush past him.  "Where are you rushing off to, pet?" he asked.

"The little girl's room," she replied.

He saw the color staining her cheek, the reflective sheen in her eyes, and silently reprimanded himself for letting her drink as much as she had.  So much for doing this for Red, he thought as he felt the Slayer sway within his grasp.  He'd gotten himself all wrapped up in reliving the glory days, the feeling of importance being around those who respected him a balm to his bruised ego, and lapsed in his promise to Buffy to help with Willow.  Bollocks.

"Think that's such a good idea?" he quizzed, leaning in a little closer.  His blue eyes drifted to the various vampires around the room.  "Don't like the idea of you bein' on your own in this place."

"Oh, Spike."  Buffy laughed, her hand coming up to slap lightly at his chest.  "It's the bathroom.  I'm hardly in danger of falling in or anything.  Besides, I think I'm more than capable of taking care of myself."  Standing on her tiptoes, her breath tickled his ear as she whispered, "Do you want to know where I've hidden my stake?"

He felt like a gaping teenager as a giggling Buffy almost skipped toward the other side of the room, the images of just where the stake could be placed driving all the stolen blood in his body southward.  Little tease, he thought, eyes glittering as they swept over the seductive sway of her bottom.  She's got to know what sayin' that kind of stuff does to me.

Slowly, his lip curled.  Well, I'll be damned, Spike mused.  She _does_ know.  There was no doubt in his mind now that they'd be having their chat later.  At least one good thing had come from showing at Midnight, even if they hadn't been able to get anything useful from Iris…

*************

Buffy pressed into the wall of the corridor, her stake clutched tightly in her sweaty hand.  Sneaking past the guard had been surprisingly simple; retrieving the weapon from its sheath around her thigh had not.  She'd tripped herself more than once struggling to get it out, managing to get a splinter the second time.  Now, though, she was armed, she was ready, and she was going to get some straight answers from that Iris if it killed her.  Iris, she meant.  Just had to find her first.

She was expecting the door to be locked when she found it, which explained why she shoved on it just a little too hard, stumbling inside the lavish interior.  From the couch, Iris turned her head, frowning slightly at her new guest.

"Back so soon?" she commented coldly.

Buffy straightened, slipping her hand behind her back to hide the stake.  "This isn't the bathroom?" she asked, looking confusedly at the door before sniffing pointedly at the air.  "_Smells like a bathroom.  My bad.  But you can understand why I'd be confused.  You've got that whole call girl boudoir thing going on with the décor."_

Iris turned away, returning her attention to the book that rested in her lap.  "Run away, little girl, before I decide to forget that Spike is my friend and have you for a midnight snack."

Folding her arms across her chest, Buffy lifted her chin, nudging the door closed behind her with her hip.  "OK, first of all, I'm _not a little girl, so I'd appreciate it if you'd stop calling me that."_

The sound of the door whisking shut caused Iris to rise, facing the Slayer with mild annoyance, eyes narrowing as she saw the stake the other blonde had already forgotten she was trying to hide.  "Really, jealousy does _not become you.  Does loverboy know you carry one of those things around?"  The corner of her mouth lifted.  "Although, knowing Spike, I wouldn't be surprised if it wasn't his twisted form of foreplay.  Does he make you play Slayer games?  He's killed two of them, you know.  He considers it a badge of honor."_

"I know."  Buffy's voice was tight, the vibrant colors in the room hurting her eyes as she struggled to maintain control of her temper.  Something about this bitch really rubbed her wrong, and in more than just the normal it's-a-vampire-and-I-need-to-stake-her way.  "And Spike told me you two weren't even really friends, so there's no reason for me to be jealous.  Which I'm not."  How many times was she going to have to say it for people to start believing her?

"I believe _I_ told you there was no reason for it."  

"You also told us you didn't know anything about Stella and you lied about that, so why should I believe _anything you say?"_

"So you're saying you think there _is a reason for you to be jealous?"_

"No, I just told you I wasn't."  Buffy's head was starting to cloud as she watched Iris take a step forward.  What was with the word games?  Why was she talking so much?  The wine fuzzied her brain, and she swallowed hard as if that would clear it.  

"So, if you believe me about nothing going on between me and your boyfriend, there's no reason you shouldn't believe me about this…Stella you're so worried about finding."  Another step.

"No, you're lying about that.  Spike said so."

"The same Spike who thought he could fool me by showing up at my club with the Slayer?  _That_ same trustworthy Spike?"

Buffy's eyes widened as Iris took another step.  Shit.  So maybe they hadn't been able to fool her after all.  What had they done to give her away?  Well, at least she didn't have to pretend anymore.

"You know, I have to give the vamp credit though," the female demon continued, still moving with that stealthy grace.  "Getting a Slayer under his control?  Very impressive."

Her heart quickened at Iris' words.  They still had hope; she still believed in the thrall thing.  Out loud, she said, "I told you before.  I think Spike would surprise you.  He certainly surprised me."

*************

For the third time, Spike cast a glance in the direction Buffy had disappeared, wondering what in hell was taking her so long.  Could she have run into something beyond her control?  Normally, he wouldn't have worried about the Slayer handling herself amidst a group of vampires, but in her current inebriated state, she was slightly more vulnerable.  If anything happened to her, it would be his fault.

A small knot of fear lodged in the back of his throat, his dinner companions' voices fading from his awareness, and absently, Spike rose to his feet.  "Excuse me," he said.  "Goin' to go see what's keepin' Buffy."

He didn't even hear the amused titters that drifted after him, the murmured, "They're so devoted," lost in the gentle swell of the band.  Instead, he focused on sluicing through tables, weaving with a feral grace that alerted those around him to his presence, concentrating on the door he'd seen Buffy disappear through earlier.  It was only when he reached it that he realized that it didn't lead to the bathrooms as she'd claimed; the exit for those was on the other side of the bar.  He'd never really noticed that before.

"Bugger," Spike muttered as he pushed his way through the door.  He was immediately met with the burly form of a guard, and stopped short.

"I'm sorry," the guard said, holding up his hand.  "This is a private area."

"Not as sorry as I am, mate," the vamp replied, and before the other could react, Spike's fist had shot out, connecting heavily with the guard's jaw, sending him unconscious against the opposite wall.  

Thank god Iris only hires fellow demons, he thought as he stalked down the corridor.  Makes this so much easier for me.

He didn't even consider how Buffy had gotten past the guard.  Knowing the Slayer, if she was set on this as her destination, one measly vampire wasn't going to stand in her way.

He heard their voices first, Buffy's artificially exuberant thanks to the wine, Iris' smooth and even, and stopped outside the door, his hand reaching for the doorknob.  It stopped, however, when the Slayer's next words reached his ears.

"You know, if you touch him, I _will kill you."_

Iris laughed.  "You are a little spitfire, aren't you?  Remind me to applaud Spike when I see him next.  You're a far sight more interesting than that vapid Drusilla.  At least _you're_ reasonably sane."  Another laugh.  "Spike, on the other hand, is utterly mad for getting himself involved with a Slayer.  It must be Dru's lingering influence.  Does it bother you that she still has such power over your boyfriend?"

Spike grimaced.  Shit.  Iris knew Buffy was the Slayer.  No wonder she'd lied earlier about Stella.  His credibility was shot to hell with her now.

"Stop right where you are are.  I can see what you're trying to do."  This was Buffy.

"Oh?  And what am I doing?"

"I said, stop."  Firmer this time, followed by the faintest of rustles from the other side of the door.

"I can see the appeal you have for Spike, little girl---."

"I told you to stop calling me that!"

"---but why on earth are you choosing to stay around _him?  Is it the sex?  Does sleeping with the enemy make you quiver?"_

"If I wasn't so sure you could help us find Stella, I'd be staking you faster than you could blink right about now."

"And you'd never get out of here alive.  Kill me, and you'll have every vampire in the place on you.  A drunk Slayer is a sloppy Slayer.  And Spike would be dust as well for bringing you here in the first place."

"Leave him out of this!"

Another chuckle from Iris.  "Poor little Slayer.  What does it feel like, knowing you're falling in love with William the Bloody?   Are you prepared to have your heart broken when he drops you, or better yet, _kills_ you, when he gets bored with his little mortal dalliance?"

He was getting tired of eavesdropping, his muscles screaming at him to just march in there and yank Buffy out, but the implication from the other vampire that the Slayer was developing true feelings for him froze his hand, his desire to hear the response to this greater than his need to interrupt.

"What happens to my heart is _none of your business," Buffy said coldly.  Spike could hear her heartbeat through the door, and knew that it wasn't just because of the alcohol.  "What we have is…fresh, and…raw, and…and exciting, and wait, none of your business."_

"You made it my business when you barged in here with your little stake."

Stake.  Shit.  

No more time to listen.

The knob twisted in his grip and Spike rushed inside, knocking the edge of the door against Buffy's shoulder.

"Ow!" she cried out, stumbling from his path.  She would've fallen to the floor if he hadn't grabbed her, his strong arm wrapping around her waist to pull her tight against him.

"Why do I bother hiring bodyguards if just anyone can push their way in?" Iris complained, turning away from the blond pair to collapse in elegant annoyance on her couch.

She fought against his grip, straining to be released.  "Let me go, Spike!" Buffy ordered.   She didn't really expect him to listen to her, but felt his arm disappear.  Oh look, she thought as she tumbled to the floor.  Gravity works.

"I suggest you get your little girlfriend out of my club," Iris said nonchalantly, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred.  "And it would probably be a very good idea if you didn't come back."

Spike's hand guided Buffy back up as she used his trousers leg for leverage.  A quick scan over her form revealed nothing amiss, and he shifted his attention briefly to the other woman in the room.  "This isn't over," he warned her.

Iris smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.  "Oh, I know that," she replied.  "It's really only beginning."  Her mouth hardened.  "Now, get out."

*************

They left by the back entrance, sliding into the car in mutual silence.  Spike watched as Buffy pressed herself against the door, slouching in the seat as she twirled the stake between her fingers, pouting when she kept dropping it into her lap.

"What did you think you were doing?" he finally asked.

"I was bored," came the reply.  "And you said she was lying."  She lifted too-bright hazel eyes to gaze at him.  "Iris is a bitch."

Spike chuckled.  "You're not tellin' me anything I don't already know," he concurred.  "Still doesn't tell me why you thought you should go after her on your own, especially when you've been drinking."

"You're the one who said I couldn't get drunk off one glass of wine."

"And you proved me wrong, didn't you?"

"I'm not drunk."

"Whatever you say, pet."

"And I'm not jealous."  She stifled a wide yawn, her jaw clicking shut in embarrassment. 

"Think the jury's still out on that one."  Time for a cigarette.  Iris' no-smoking policy was leaving him a little itchy, and he fumbled in his pockets for his lighter.

"And I'm not in love with you."

By the time he'd lifted his surprised gaze to look at her, Buffy's eyes had already drifted shut, her blonde head leaning against the glass, her weapon dangling lifelessly from her hand.  She'd avoided answering the female vampire's accusation directly when she'd been housed up with her, and now, hearing the unsolicited protestation for his own ears sent the questions reeling inside his skull.  What was that about the lady doth protest too much? he thought, drinking in her passed-out form, listening to the steady tattoo of her pulse.  This thing between them wasn't about _love, just…mutual respect, and incredible attraction, maybe friendship on the outside.  Why was the Slayer talking about __love?_

For the same reason he'd been mulling over the shift in his thoughts about her.  Because all of a sudden, the possibility was there, each moment they spent together reinforcing their needs instead of gathering the grounds to drive them further apart.  He wouldn't call it love, not yet, not for him anyway, but he wouldn't be surprised if it ended up there at the rate they were going.  Had she beaten him there?

That question, and more, kept him quiet as they pulled up to the small cottage.  Buffy didn't stir, even when Spike leaned over and gently shook her shoulder to wake her.  Out cold, he realized, and sighed as he climbed out of the car, hurrying around to the other side to open her door.  He caught her before she could tumble out, scooping her into his arms, and carrying her inside.

She was so fragile, her bones as weightless as a bird's, and Spike resisted the sudden urge to throw her into the sky to see if she would fly.  Instead, he stood on the step of the house, the moonlight splaying in silver streaks across her lashes, deepening the flush in her cheeks to make the life within her unmistakable, and pursed his lips together to blow a gentle stream of air across her forehead, watching as it caught the faint strands of gold.  So beautiful.  So deceptively strong.  

Would it be so wrong to allow himself to love her?

*************

The engine rumbled to a quiet as he rolled to a stop beneath the sweeping boughs of the trees.  Exhausted, Freddie slumped forward, forehead resting on the steering wheel.  If he could sleep until Christmas, he just might start feeling human again.

Stella's bus was scheduled to arrive in the morning, which was not soon enough for his tastes.  There had been no more incidents with Willow for the remainder of the trip, but that was because he'd kept her sleeping, drugged to the gills with whatever it took to make sure her and her magic didn't get loose again.  He still had a bruise on his side from where the cassette case had slammed into him; he didn't even want to think about what other possible damage she could inflict if she was actually awake.

Wearily, Freddie lifted his head and stared out over the water, watching the slight rippling under the stars.  He would've preferred staying in the city, but they needed Willow in the djab's proximity once she was wakened, and with its home here within these trees, that left few options for resting elsewhere.  The next forty-eight hours would be frightening, and exhilarating, and more of a dream than he'd ever imagined.

Provided, of course, that he lived through them…

To be continued in Chapter 12: It's About That Time…


	12. It's About That Time

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.  And the chapter titles are courtesy of Miles Davis.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  A tipsy Buffy confronted Iris, who confirmed that she knew that Buffy was the Slayer, and Spike got her out of there before anything could happen, taking her back to the cottage…

*************

She could smell him all around her, leather mingling with the fading cigarette smoke, churning with that musk that was uniquely Spike's to create a scent that prickled her taste buds.  Groaning softly, Buffy turned her head, fully expecting to be greeted by the vampire's sleeping form, but instead saw only the padded expanse of the snowy white comforter.

Blinking into the darkness, she propped herself up on her elbows, the hair that had been loosened from its knot spilling around her shoulders.  She was in the cottage's bedroom, and it was still nighttime, although a quick glance at the clock on the nightstand announced that it was actually quite early morning.  She groaned again.  Four o'clock.  What in hell was she doing waking up at four?  And how exactly had she gotten here in the first place?

The gown she'd worn to the club still clung to her body, but her feet were bare, her sandals scattered haphazardly across the floor.  She didn't remember taking them off.  Of course, she didn't remember getting home, either, so that really didn't say a whole lot.  If she tried---and the slight throb of her head made trying just a shade on this side of difficult---she remembered drinking at the club, and watching Spike play King of the Castle with his groupies---and wasn't that just a little scary because she almost didn't recognize him, playing nice-nice with the other demons, like he was trying to impress them or something---and…

Her eyes widened.  

Crap.  Iris.  I went and tried talking to Iris.

With a stake.

While I was drunk.

Not a shining Slayer moment.

The memory of Spike coming in after her, and helping her get out to the car, came rushing in after, and Buffy realized then that she must've passed out on the ride home.  He probably carried me in, she thought as she sat up.  And I'm just smelling him because he slept in here last night.

Her mouth was parched, her tongue feeling twice its thickness, and she swallowed compulsively, trying to coat her throat in anything remotely resembling liquid.  Water, she decided.  I need water.  Like, yesterday.  It could've been worse, though, she knew.  A little dry mouth, a little headache…considering how much wine she'd had, she was actually getting off pretty lucky.

As she rose from the bed, Buffy plucked at the dress twisted around her legs, the stale scent of wine wafting to her nostrils, and grimaced, deciding then and there that any more sleep would be much better gained in something that was actually _meant_ to be slept in.  She whisked it over her head, but it wasn't until it was tossed to the chaise under the window that she realized her other clothes were still in the outer room, her bag probably still sitting outside the bathroom door where she'd left it earlier that day.  Can't go out there like this, she thought, folding her arms across her bare breasts as she looked around.  Not with Spike sleeping on the couch.

Her eyes lit on the discarded t-shirt the vampire had been wearing prior to going out.  She shouldn't, not without asking, but he wouldn't know, right?  He'd be asleep, she'd get her water, grab her bag, and be back in the room without him ever knowing she'd borrowed it.  But even as her fingers closed around the cotton, Buffy couldn't deny the small flutter in her stomach as Spike's scent renewed its assault on her senses.  He'd promised at the club that they were going to have their little "chat" when they got home, and while she couldn't say that she really knew what in hell she was going to say in it, the notion that the chat would be followed by more of those amazing kisses Spike seemed to excel at flushed her system in warmth.  Sleeping in his shirt might be the closest she got to that tonight.  And what he didn't know wouldn't annoy him, right?

If she wasn't still suffering from the effects of the alcohol, she might have noticed the faint music that was coming from the living room when she emerged from the bedroom.  As it was, it wasn't until she'd stepped from the hall that she heard the halting melody being plucked from the piano, and froze in her place, hazel eyes locked on the shirtless form of Spike sitting at the baby grand on the other side of the room.

"You're up," she said needlessly.

"Same could be said for you," he replied, not bothering to turn around.  He still wore his tuxedo trousers, but the belt had been removed, draped uselessly over the back of the couch, and he sat on the piano bench tapping out a tune with his right hand.  "Thought you'd be out for the count until sunrise."

"I was…thirsty."  Buffy frowned, taking a step closer to him.  "What're you doing?"

"Looks like I'm playin' the piano."

She rolled her eyes.  "I can _see_ that.  I just…why?"

"I couldn't sleep and the telly's in the bedroom, remember?  Bloke's gotta keep himself entertained somehow."  His fingers hovered over the keys for a moment.  "Fuck," she heard him mutter, fist pounding once on the keyboard before resuming its work, picking up the melody at the beginning again.  After a moment, he added, "Been a while since I played, though.  Remembering how it goes isn't comin' as easy as I thought it would."

"I didn't know you could play at all."

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Slayer," he said, and shifted his weight to glance back at her for the first time since her arrival.

She saw his eyes narrow as they swept up her bare legs, absorbing the sight of the black cotton skimming across the top of her thighs before lifting his gaze to her face.  The music hesitated, then stopped, the vampire removing his hands from the instrument to turn around to look at her fully.

"That's not what you fell asleep in," he commented, and she felt the cadences beneath his words like a satin caress across her skin.

"My stuff was out here, and I didn't feel like walking around naked just to get a glass of water."  She was desperately trying not to make it too obvious what he was doing to her, and decided that now was just as good a time as any for that drink, silently ordering her feet to start moving toward the kitchen even though they seemed determined to stay rooted in that particular spot.

"I dunno."  His voice floated after her.  "Buffy in the buff sounds pretty appetizing to me."

"You're a pig, Spike," she shot back, but her heart wasn't in it, his responding chuckle proof that he knew it as well.

He was still sitting there when she returned with her water, eyes dark and contemplative, as if he was waiting for her to say something.  Instead, keeping her eyes averted, Buffy lifted the glass to her mouth, forcing herself to drain its contents in one pass.  Anything, really, so that she wouldn't have to speak to him just yet.  Not that she really thought she could at the moment, anyway.  Seeing him like that…wearing his scent so close to her skin…she was on Slayer sensory overload.

God, he thought.  She can even making gulping down that water look sexy.  This was one of the few times he was grateful not to be wearing his black jeans; the bagginess of the tux trousers gave his cock plenty of room to get hard without making it obvious to her.  Not that he thought she would object if she knew.  He could smell her desire all the way across the room.

"What were you playing?" she asked, striving for normal as she the glass down on the breakfast bar.

He shrugged.  "Just a little ditty from a long time ago," he said, and tilted his head, the corner of his mouth lifting.  "You play?"

Buffy laughed at the absurdity of the question.  "Uh, no.  I think my music gene got eaten by my Slayer gene somewhere along the line."

"Betcha I can teach you.  It's not really that hard, and you've already got two things in your favor."

"And what're those?"

Spike smiled.  "Me as a teacher, and the fact that we both know you're already good with your hands." 

The giggle that rose to her lips helped ease some of the nervousness in her system, and she took a few steps closer to him.  "You should be warned Mom tried making me take piano lessons when I was little.  My teacher went missing after three sessions."

"Ooo, a challenge."  He smirked as he rose from the bench, gesturing for her to take a seat.  "'Course that's to be expected, I'd guess."

Her heart was thumping as she slid onto the cold bench, the t-shirt riding up so that it pooled slightly around her hips when she positioned herself in the seat's middle.  What are you doing? she demanded of herself silently.  Half-naked Buffy plus half-naked Spike does not add up to Slayer goodness.

_No, it adds up to sexy goodness_, the little voice inside her chortled.

Shut up, she admonished.  You're not helping.

_Oh, please_, it said.  _Like you're not loving every second of this._

"Do you know where middle C is?" Spike was asking.  At some point, he had moved to stand directly behind her, touching but not, his thighs just inches away from her back.

She blushed and was glad he couldn't see her face.  "I'm going to guess…somewhere in the middle?" Buffy quipped.

Spike sighed.  "Scoot up, Slayer," he instructed, but when she started to slide sideways, his hand came down on her shoulder, stopping her movement.  "I said, up."  He made a sweeping gesture forward, nudging at the small of her back with his knee.

Slowly, Buffy inched her bottom forward along the bench until she was just as much off as she was on.  Keeping her eyes glued to the black and white keys in front of her, she felt the vampire settle himself behind her, legs straddling either side of hers, hips pressing gently into her ass.  For a moment, she thought she felt a hard reminder of his earlier arousal, but it quickly disappeared when Spike eased himself back, separating their bodies with the narrowest slivers of air.

His right hand took hers and rested it on the keyboard.  "This is middle C," he said, trying not to make it obvious that he was drowning in the scent of her hair.  "Everything starts from here."

"Everything?"  Her voice sounded like a squeak to her, and she couldn't help but wonder…when did the air conditioning stop working?

"Yeah.  Let's do a scale first."

Her bottom lip jutted out of its own accord.  "I want to learn a song," she said, the slightest of whines tingeing her voice.

He heard the pout in her tone, and immediately flashed back to the previous autumn, when the pair of them had been under Willow's spell, and the most delicious thing in the world to him had been the taste of that bottom lip.  His mouth watered at the memory, and Spike swallowed, resisting the urge to just bury the crook of her neck in hungry kisses.

Relax, he chided himself.  Keep it slow.  One wrong move, and she's goin' to stake you for good.  

It was eating at him, though, he had to admit.  He wanted nothing more than to just get all the cards out on the table, right then, right there, but with Buffy's history, and her penchant for jumping to the worst possible conclusion about him, Spike knew that would be the worst thing he could do.  He'd thought for awhile at the club that she might be seeing him with just a little more respect, that hearing how he was esteemed and feared by demons that seemed a cut above the norm might make a difference.  That had been shelved, unfortunately, as soon as the issue of his killing the other Slayers had come up.  She might've been able to forget before that, but the reminder that he had two Slayers under his belt was most likely what drove her to act out so rashly in confronting Iris while under the influence.

That was actually his fault, and he knew it.  He should've warned Buffy ahead of time.  Iris was one of the most powerful vampires in New Orleans; they were on _her turf at Midnight and any unprovoked attack on their part would've surely cost both of them their lives.  It was the only reason he'd let the bloody bodyguard live.  Kill one of Iris' minions?  Only if Spike had a deathwish, which, in light of his current situation with the Slayer now situated between his knees, was the farthest thing from his mind._

 "You learn a song later," Spike replied in answer to her complaint.  "First, you've gotta learn your scales.  Consider it a building block."  Deftly, his fingers skated over the keys, the strains of the simple scale the only sound in the small cottage.  "See?  Easy.  Now you try."

She fumbled like a child with her first few attempts, and in spite of the vampire's coaching, was no better on the fifth try than the first.  Part of him thought she was being difficult on purpose.  Part of him was already so frustrated that he just wanted to slam the lid down on the piano and say sod it all to the entire exercise.  But he bit back against both those parts, squelching his impulses, knowing that anything retaliative on his behalf would send the Slayer scurrying faster than a cockroach in sudden sunlight.

"Like this," he said resolutely, and placed his hand directly over hers, forcing her fingers to meld to his and follow the deliberate motions of the scale.  Up, and then down, and it wasn't until their thumbs were back on middle C that Spike realized that her heartbeat had accelerated, the temperature of her body rising in discernible degrees.  It wasn't the effect he'd been after, but nothing he was going to argue with at this point.

"Again," he said, this time softer.  She started it this time, keeping her hand pressed to his as she faltered through the scale.  If it would've been possible, Spike was certain his palm would've been sweating before they'd returned to home position.

"And again."

The rote continued two…three…four more times.  On the fifth, after Buffy had managed the last pass with little assistance from the vampire, he lifted his hand away, hovering just above hers as she executed it on her own.

"See?" he said, and fought to keep the huskiness out of his voice.  "Not so hard."

"Can I learn a song now?"

"Scales now.  Song later."

"You know, you're as bad as Giles."

"That's hittin' below the belt, pet."

"So I can learn a song?"

"No.  Scales."

When she did that sharp exhalation he recognized as her frustrated sound, Spike tensed, knowing this was his cue that she was going to bolt.  Patience was _not one of her strong suits---usually not his either, but for Buffy, he was willing to work at it---so when her fingers began gliding over the keys again, he was surprised, dropping his hand to his side as he watched her play._

"Did I mention yet that I really don't like Iris?" Buffy asked nonchalantly.

His frown of confusion was accompanied by the thought, _she's tryin' to make conversation with me?, and Spike held himself straight, ready for the other shoe to drop.  "Did you find anything out from her?" he asked carefully._

"Nope.  She was all about the word games."  She sighed.  "Why can't you vampires just give a straight answer when someone asks you a question?  Why do you have to play at being so cryptic all the time?"

"Because it's our job to mess with you humans," Spike joked.  "And not all of us do it, you know.  I rather fancy myself as the straightforward---."

Buffy's bark of laughter took him by surprise.  "Oh, please," she said.  "When was the last time you were straight with me when I asked you a pointblank question, Spike?  You _revel_ in the entendres.  Single, double, triple, whatever the sitch calls for."

She was still playing, her scales not interrupted by their conversation, when he responded.  "Just give what I get, luv," he said, not masking the annoyance that crept into his tone.  "When was the last time you gave me the same courtesy?"

She had no answer to that, and hesitated.  Why do we always end up arguing? she wondered.  The memory of his hand on hers still burned into her flesh, and she surprised herself---although maybe only a little bit---by wishing he would put it back.  Get the conversation back on track, she ordered herself.  You can do this.  You did it in the car, you can do it sitting at a stupid piano.

"I guess I'm not going to get a chance to wear those other dresses," Buffy commented, resuming the steady pace of the scales.  "I think we burned our bridge with Iris.  She's not so thrilled about having a Slayer hanging around her club."

She's trying, he thought.  I'll be a son of a bitch, the Slayer's actually puttin' an effort in here not to turn this into something ugly.  He'd thought he'd blown it with his crack, but the retort had been said in reflex, not meant to be said out loud even if he did believe it to be true.  It was then that he decided to hell with it.  

She wasn't running.  She wasn't being a bitch.  And she smelled like heaven.

"I'm sure if you want," he said casually, "we can probably find a reason for you to wear 'em.  But have to tell you…"  Spike lifted his left hand and began tracing circles across the top of her bare thigh.  "…don't think one of them could hold a candle to seein' you in my shirt."

Her breath hitched at his first touch, her fingers stopping to settle on the keys.  As soon as they did, though, his hand disappeared, and Buffy almost moaned in frustration.  "You…stopped…" she breathed.

"So did you."

"Huh?"  She twisted to look back at him.  "What're you talking about?"

Spike nodded to the piano.  "You stopped playin'," he said.  

"And your point would be…?"

"You stop.  I stop.  Sounds like a fair trade to me."  His eyes were dark, flickering to her mouth, drinking in the slight tremor in its bottom lip before rising back to meet the hazel.  Would she rise to the bait?  Either way, Spike thought he'd finally get a clue as to what she really wanted.  The choice was going to be hers.

Time stopped as she stared at him, her skin crawling to protest the tantalizing promise of his body being withheld from it.  A beat…then another…and slowly, deliberately, she turned back in her seat, her hand returning to the keyboard.

When the first note came from the piano, Spike's lids fluttered closed in disbelief, his jaw dropping ever so slightly as his teeth caught the tip of his tongue.  Though the proof of her arousal hung in the air, burned through the cotton of the shirt to sear his chest, part of him hadn't thought she'd still be sitting there.  Yet there she was, and she was doing those bloody scales, and…why wasn't he touching her yet?

Feather light, his fingers returned to the satin of her thigh, and he pressed himself forward.  The small gasp that escaped Buffy's throat made him smile, and his head bowed forward to hover just beside her ear.

"Think I promised you a chat," he murmured.

"Now?"  It was bad enough he was expecting her to continue with the playing just to get him to touch her; now he wanted her to talk, too?

His other hand joined the first, a single finger running along the length of the well-defined muscle.  "Told you this couldn't go any further without us gettin' some kind of understanding between us, pet.  'Course, if you want me to stop…"

"No…don't…"  Even as the words came out, Buffy couldn't believe herself.  At that moment, nothing seemed more important than Spike, and his hands, and that mouth she was just dying to turn around and kiss.  Reason seemed to have fled, but she didn't care.  Not when she felt like this.

Alive.

"What is it you want, Slayer?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.  "Is it like Iris says?  Just fancy a walk on the wild side?"

His hands skimmed to the top of her thighs, palms brushing across the surface, raising the goosebumps across her skin in tiny shivers.  Somewhere deep within her hips, Buffy felt a tingle begin to pulse, and chewed her lip, trying to focus on the black and white keys before her.  "How'd you…know she said that?" she breathed.

"Overheard you two."  Spike's tongue snaked out, pointedly skirting the inner curve of her ear.  

Her hands fell from the piano, ready to turn and confront him about eavesdropping, but as soon as the music stopped, Spike pulled back, forcing himself to separate from the lure of her skin.  Buffy froze.  

"Told you I'd stop," the vampire said unnecessarily.

But she couldn't bring herself to start again, every nerve in her body racing, blurring the muscle memory in her hands so that she knew it would be impossible to return to the scales.  What was it she wanted?  A pointblank question, and here she was, wondering what the shortest answer was that she could give Spike so that he would just go back to touching her.

Her hesitation cut through his euphoria, and Spike silently reproached himself for insisting on the piano game.  Stupid idea, of course she wasn't going to go along with it.  He had to bring up the chat and bugger the whole arrangement up.

Except a part of him wanted that chat, wanted the truth the chat was supposed to bring.  Everything had been going so good.  She wanted him, and he wanted her, and…

…and she was playing again, not well, not even, but still…playing.

His hands were back on her in a shot, strong fingers gripping her thighs to prise her legs apart, allowing him access to the soft inner satin between her knees.  "See, I'm of the opinion," he murmured, "you don't know what you want.  Or rather, you want it both ways.  You want the birds singin', bells a-ringin' romantic claptrap that those nancyboy college prats gave you, but you also want the fire that comes from lettin' those wild instincts of yours take over.  

"Problem is…"  His mouth dropped down the side of her neck, blunt teeth nibbling the length of the vein that ran there, tongue trailing to the curve of her shoulder.  "…it scares the hell out of you because it means lettin' go, putting your trust in something you hate.  Except…"  Spike's voice dropped to a silken growl.  "…you don't hate me, do you, pet?  And that's actually just a tad bit scarier..."

"You've…"  Her breath was coming in short pants now, his cool fingers stroking the length of her inner thigh.  "…helped us," she managed, and wondered how in hell she was doing all this at the same time, talking and playing and _god that feels good_ and listening to what he had to say.  "Like now.  With…Willow."

She could feel Spike shake his head.  "Excuses," he said.  "Something tangible for you to lay the fact that you and me might have more in common than you want to believe."  He sucked at the muscle at the nape of her neck as one hand left her leg to sneak under the t-shirt, pressing flat against her abdomen as he held her closer.  

"I'm not a monster," she protested amidst the shivers that ran through her small frame.

"No," he agreed.  "You're a warrior.  A strong…"  And his mouth was on the other side of her neck now, lapping at the slight tang of sweat it found.  "…beautiful…"  A nip just under her ear.  "…glorious fighter, who needs someone strong enough to keep up without havin' to hold you back._  That's_ why you don't hate me, luv."  One finger caught the waistband of her panties, sliding beneath it to follow its path to her side, gliding down the hollow where her leg met her hip.  "Because you know that that someone's _me."_

In spite of the exquisiteness of his touch, the cockiness in Spike's voice raised Buffy's hackles, and she straightened against him.  "Gee, conceited much?" she commented, and was annoyed when he reacted by chuckling.

"Tell me I'm wrong," he dared.  "'Cept we both know you'd be lying."

It was true, and she disliked him intensely at that moment for being so damn astute, but let her body relax anyway.  "So…"  Her hands were shaking now, fingers almost unable to continue the damn scales he was insisting she do.  "…let's say I do…like you.  That doesn't mean I'm looking for another vampire boyfriend.  Been there, got the t-shirt, remember?"

Spike growled, his grip leaving her legs to yank her roughly against him, arms around her waist.  "I'm not Angel," he rumbled.  

Her hands were no longer on the piano, but neither of them seemed to care, torsos locked together as the words hung in the air.  "I know that," Buffy said softly.  She swallowed, all too aware of the muscles of his arms cutting into her stomach, long fingers clutching at her sides.  "I don't…want Angel."

His mouth was back on her neck, unable to stay away as if the taste of her skin was his necessary sustenance for life.  Unexpected hope flared somewhere within his chest, and he burrowed even deeper, closing his eyes against it, suddenly fearful of what was going to be said next.  "What is it you _do_ want then?" he asked.

Pointblank.

Her second of reckoning.

"You," Buffy whispered.  "All of you."

She was twisted in his embrace faster than she could blink, his mouth descending to hers in desperate hunger as her legs automatically lifted to wrap themselves around his hips.  The pressure of him against her sent electric tingles through her, and she found herself holding onto him tighter, nails digging into his back as their tongues fought for dominance.  The promises of their earlier kisses were nothing compared to what she had unleashed with her admission, sweltering in frost as his hands tangled in her hair, pulling her closer while swiveling to lean her back against the piano bench.

When he tore his mouth away, she gasped for air, her head swimming as she found herself staring up at the ceiling.  What air she managed to gain, however, was immediately sucked away as Spike tore the tee down the front, splitting it in two halves to expose her hardened nipples to the crisp air.  Straddling the bench, he let his hands slide down her sternum, fingers encircling the swell of her breasts, studiously avoiding direct contact that would satisfy both of their itches.

Her scent was all he was aware of.  Though his arousal throbbed within his trousers, he knew that it would wait.  It had to.  The only thing he wanted right then was to taste her.

Buffy's eyes flew open when she felt him slide off the bench, pulling her down its length so that her hips rested on the very edge.  As she propped herself up on her elbows, she was surprised to see him kneeling between her legs, his lips attaching themselves to the soft skin of her inner thigh before beginning the trek upwards.  "What're you doing?" she asked, breathless.  "I thought…you know…"

"Don't think we won't," he murmured into her flesh.  He never even bothered to look at her, his nostrils flaring as he kept inhaling the intoxicating aroma of her musk.  "Just…goin' to have a little appetizer first."  Her little squeak of surprise gathered his attention, though, and Spike tilted in head in question when he saw the panic behind her eyes.  

"Why?" she queried.  "You don't have to, you know."

"Have to's got nothin' to do with it.  More like want to."  His gaze softened, understanding tempering his next words.  "Relax, Buffy.  It's not like I've never done this before."

She blushed, the pink staining her cheeks in embarrassment.  "It's just…Riley wasn't…it's not like he didn't, he just…it wasn't his favorite thing to do.  I'd rather…you know…"

"Ssshhh."  He'd pulled her up, wrapping his arms around her, settling his lips over hers before she could continue.  "Vampire, remember?" he said after they separated.  "Kind of have a soft spot for oral satisfaction."

She giggled, and the freedom in it caused the hope to burn just a little brighter inside Spike's chest.  With a gentle palm, he pressed her back onto the bench.  "Now, just lie there and be a good little Slayer," he instructed.  "I plan on this bein' a veritable feast for me."

Lean fingers hooked through the sides of her panties, pulling them down and over her legs.  With the slight fabric out of the way, her scent was even richer, his mouth prickling in moisture as he felt his demon fight to emerge.  It would be so simple to take her like this.  If it wasn't for the chip in his head, he wasn't sure he would've had the control not to.

Instead, his head dipped, his lips parting to skate along her thigh, the pressure within his flesh surging in revolt as he forced himself to take it slow.  Each inch took him, and he felt the tattoo of her pulse pounding into his skull as her hands found their way to his head, tickling along his cheekbones, guiding him ever so near.

At his first touch, Buffy gasped, her hips bucking at the contact.  It wasn't like it was her first time, but already, the devotion Spike was attending her surpassed the half-hearted attempts Riley had made the few times he'd tried this.  Too messy, he'd admitted in embarrassment afterward, and she'd felt slightly shamed, like it was her fault he didn't like to give oral.  Now, though, the blond vamp seemed determined to drive her over the edge without even using penetration.

"Please," she heard herself pleading, and for some reason, it sounded like the most natural thing in the world.  

Spike chuckled, but didn't answer, his mouth returning to its repast, sliding two of his fingers deep inside her.  When he felt her clench around him, he almost growled as he began thrusting them in and out, nibbling at her sex, using the reflexive action of her hips pushing back against him to guide his rhythm.

Two fingers became three.

Nibbles became bites.

And Buffy's breathy gasps became an unrelenting stream of words, coaxing and driving Spike to go faster.

"God…Spike…please…yes…don't stop…" And on it went, until every other word was _Spike_, her need rising, his rhythm increasing.

And then it was just…

"Spike…Spike…Spike…"  Like a mantra she needed to root herself in the present.

Each sound of his name burned brighter than sunshine to the vampire, and when he felt her body begin to shake beneath him, wave upon wave of pleasure rocketing through her muscles, he tore his mouth away, forcing his hand to stay as he slid up her body, locking his lips to the pulsepoint at the base of her neck as she came.  She clung to him, fingers lost in the curls at his nape, her keening from the sensations overwhelming her flesh surpassing the buzz of the air conditioner in the air of the cottage.  It was only when it began to ebb, receding in velvet whispers to leave her languid, muscles as molasses, that Buffy lifted her eyelids, gazing down in wonder at the blond head nuzzled against her.

"If that's an appetizer, I think I'm a little excited about what the main course is going to be like," she teased with a smile.

"Only one way to find out," Spike said against her skin, but as his hands settled at the waistband of his trousers, a sharp knock at the front door shattered the peace that settled between them.

It startled Buffy into jumping, knocking the vampire to the side to send him sprawling to the floor.  "Thanks, pet," he grumbled, rubbing his head as he rose to his feet.  He frowned as the knock was repeated.  "You didn't do something so daft as order takeaway before you came out here?" he asked.

Her Slayer senses were going into overdrive, and not all of it was because of the orgasm that was still feeding its effects throughout her system.  "Whatever's out there isn't human," she informed her partner, and began scrambling for her underwear, all too aware of her naked state.  "Maybe Iris decided we were a threat or something, and sent some of her goons over to take care of us."

Spike snorted.  "Like they're goin' to bloody stand a chance," he said.  "Still, a weapon wouldn't hurt."

Buffy held up the torn tee for him to see.  "I'm thinking clothes might not be a bad idea, either."

Marching over to the couch, he picked up his tuxedo shirt and tossed it over to her.  "I'll get the stakes."

Another knock, this time more insistent, only sped her getting dressed, and she was just fumbling with the last button when he handed her the wood.  His blue eyes swept over her, pupils still dilated in desire.  "How is it you make my clothes look so good?" he murmured.

The flush settled over her body at his words, but when the knocking turned to pounding, Buffy shook herself out of it, positioning herself at the end of the foyer, weapon at the ready.  "Let's just get this---," she started.

"Spike!  Open up!"  

The voice from outside cut her off, and both of them immediately frowned, the vampire's hand dropping to his side as he tramped to the doorway.  When he threw it open, Pablo's scaled form came whipping in, knocking him against the wall as he crossed the threshold.

"She's a Slayer?" he was demanding, beady eyes aglow in pink.  "Do you have any idea what you're doing to my rep here by tricking me into letting a Slayer stay in one of my places?"  He came up short when he saw her standing there, arms folded across her chest, the stake in clear and obvious view.  "I didn't figure on you for being a sellout, Spike," Pablo continued, unable to tear his worried gaze away from her.

"First of all," Spike said, kicking the door shut, "I'm not a sellout.  Secondly, I didn't trick you.  You didn't ask.  Thirdly, do you have any bloody idea what time it is?  You interrupted---."

"Iris called me in to ream me out for getting you set up," Pablo broke in.  "She's pissed as hell.  Did you actually have the balls to sic a Slayer on her?"

"He didn't sic me on anybody," Buffy said.  "I went to her on my own."

"That's not how she's telling it."

"She's wrong."

"So you _didn't_ go to her quarters with a stake?"

She could've lied, but for some reason, Buffy didn't see the point.  It wasn't like their cover wasn't already blown.  Before she could answer, however, Spike stepped forward and curled his arm around her waist, pulling her against his side.

"Someone got a little jealous," he said to the other demon.  "And then that same someone got a little drunk.  I got her out of there as soon as I realized what she was doin'.  You think I'm stupid enough to get Iris good and brassed off at me?"

For the first time, Pablo noticed their attire, Spike in his trousers, Buffy in Spike's shirt, and smelled the distinct smells of sex and alcohol in the air.  His eyes widened, and he took a step backward.  "So…you two…really _are_ a couple?" he asked warily.  "This isn't some crazy I Love Lucy plan to get the goods on whatever it is you're planning?  'Cause the way Iris is talking---."

"I was just pissed because Spike was flirting with her in front of me," Buffy said quietly.  Her eyes were solemn, and she allowed herself a glance up at the blond vamp so that he could see the truth in the hazel depths.  "I get a little possessive about things I think belong to me."

The dipping of Spike's head to capture his lips with hers caused Pablo to grimace, squirming uncomfortably at the deliberate show of affection between the two.  "OK, now you're just trying to gross me out," he complained, and scurried back to the door.  He stopped, his hand over the doorknob.  "Look, Spike, word of advice.  Old friend to old friend."  He waited for the vampire to look up.  "Don't go flashing your little Slayer girlfriend around any more demon hangouts.  Iris has put the word out on you two, so…it might not be one hundred percent safe.  I don't know how long you're planning on this little vacation of yours lasting, but maybe you should start thinking shorter instead of longer.  Because like I said, Iris is pissed as hell, and I don't think even you want to be on her bad side right now.  Not with the stuff I keep hearing is supposed to be coming down."

The warning sent shivers down Buffy's spine, and she pulled away from Spike to take a step closer to the scaled demon.  "What's going down?" she asked, and shook off the vampire's warning hand on her shoulder.

His pink eyes darted between the two blonds, and he visibly debated how to respond.  After a full minute had passed, Pablo sighed.  "I am _not the one who told you this," he prefaced himself, holding up a single finger.  "Something happens, and I'll turn you over to Iris faster than Spike can snap your neck."_

"What is it?" Spike demanded.

"There's this place outside the city.  Something big's supposed to be going down there tomorrow night.  Something Iris is very interested in."

"What place?  What kind of something?"

Pablo shrugged.  "I don't know details.  I just know it's got something to do with the vodou mojo and this girl from out of town being brought in to get the ball of wax rolling.  I heard Iris' guys talking about California and bus schedules, but I swear, that's all I know."

The look Buffy exchanged with Spike said it all.  According to what he'd dug up in Sunnydale, Stella's bus was due to arrive in New Orleans mid-morning; the Slayer had been planning on being there in hopes that she could catch the singer.  Her mind was in overdrive as he ushered Pablo the rest of the way out, not even noticing when he came up behind her when they were alone.

"You know you've got to get some sleep now," he said, hating that he was taking the high and mighty route in suggesting it.  

Buffy nodded, chewing at her lip.  "We've got to get to Stella before Iris does.  I just know this is all about Willow."  The look she shot him was apologetic.  "I guess our timing really sucks, huh?"

The corner of his mouth lifted.  "Don't be thinkin' I've got any regrets for what happened here tonight, pet," he said.  "Told you.  Appetizer.  I still plan on havin' that main course at some point."

Buffy stifled the yawn that rose unbidden to her lips.  "Sleep will be good," she admitted.  She was halfway to the bedroom when she realized he hadn't moved, and stopped, turning to look back at him with a small frown.  "You're not going to stay up, are you?"

"No, just thought---."

She knew what he thought, and after everything she'd admitted tonight, decided it was ridiculous.  "It's a big bed, Spike," she said with a smile.  "You promise me you're not a kicker and I'll let you share it with me."

The flame of hope in his chest was no longer a struggling cinder.  Instead, he could feel it burning safely behind his ribs, fanned by her invitation, the soft gleam in her eyes doing more for him than any physical act they might have shared at that moment.  He sauntered over the distance between him, fingers lacing through hers.  "Least I already know you're not a snorer," he commented as he led her into the bedroom, and chuckled when she slapped playfully at his bare shoulder.

*************

The bus groaned to a stop at the terminal, the stars above the city twinkling as they fought against the approaching dawn.  Sighing, Stella waited until the other passengers had disembarked before rising herself, reaching overhead for the single bag she had taken with her to California.  She hated traveling, and certainly not by bus.  It would've been nice to be able to make the trip with Freddie, but they both knew that was risky.  Better to keep them separated until they were ready to waken Willow.  There would be fewer opportunities for screw-ups that way.

She sensed the presence as soon as she stepped from the bus, and froze, head swiveling to gaze at the gloomy shadows around her, searching for the subtle variances in shade that would tell her where they were hiding.  Already, she was summoning some of her magic, preparing herself for whatever lay ahead, but her exhaustion made her slow, her reflexes sluggish.

An icy hand clamped over her mouth, its partner clenched around her neck, squeezing just enough to make the spots dance before her eyes, and Stella found herself unable to fight as whoever it was pulled her silently away from the station.  Her feet stumbled, tangling with her assailant's, and she heard him curse under his breath.

"Don't hurt her."  A female's voice rose from the night, and Stella stopped, straightening as a woman emerged before her.  For one of the few times in her life, the singer found herself having to look up, meeting the golden aspect of Iris' vampire visage.  It swept over her form before returning to her face.  "You're early," she said.  "That's good.  It means you might yet be successful…"

To be continued in Chapter 13: Human Nature…


	13. Human Nature

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.  And the chapter titles are courtesy of Miles Davis.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Buffy has admitted to Spike about wanting him---all of him---leading to a brief tryst on the piano bench, while Iris has shown up at the bus station to meet an arriving Stella…

*************

Glints caught on the amber of Iris' eyes as she surveyed the black singer before her.  "I don't know why you're so scared," she commented nonchalantly.  "Oh, wait.  Yes, I do.  Because you know I can kill you."  She smiled as Stella thrashed in her minion's grasp, but it quickly disappeared when he jerked just a little too roughly to calm his captive, the audible crunch of a bone being broken cracking the night air.

"You idiot!" Iris hissed.  "Kill her, and we might as well have let Spike and his little Slayer find her."  She took a step closer, and allowed her vampface to slide away as she returned her gaze to Stella, watching the pain shine behind the unshed tears in the singer's eyes.  "You are a very popular lady, you know.  You should really feel quite flattered."

"I'm hungry," one of the guards flanking Iris whined.  "Can we eat her now?"

The blonde shook her head in mock disappointment, rolling her eyes conspiratorially at the other woman.  "I _hate_ surrounding myself with such halfwits," she complained.  With a casual toss over her shoulder, she said, "Go find yourself some tourist to snack on.  This one's not for eating."

When she turned back to her hostage, Iris was met with Stella's widened gaze, surprise etched above her hurt.  "I _told_ them to grab a bite before we left, but do they ever listen to me?"  She sighed.  "Now, as much as I love the sound of my own voice, I'm getting kind of tired of standing here talking to myself, so I'm going to tell my man to let you go in about a minute.  Do you promise to be a good little girl and not try with the hocus-pocus?  Because if I can sense _anything magical about ready to come spilling from that pretty mouth of yours, you can guarantee that your blood will be spilling even faster.  I don't care if you __are necessary in getting back the voix mortelle.  Understand?"_

There was a hint of hesitation, and then Stella nodded as best she could within the vampire's grasp.  A corresponding nod from Iris, and the singer was released, crumpling slightly, breasts heaving as she struggled to restore her breathing to normal.  Pain radiated through her chest, and she felt the uncomfortable scrape of bone along her ribcage, knowing that the demon had snapped something there when she'd struggled.  "Who are you?" she rasped, eyes locked on the blonde.

"Did I forget to introduce myself?"  Iris tutted under her breath.  "I get so used to people knowing me already, I totally forget my manners sometimes.  I'm Iris, you're Stella, and where is the girl you were supposed to be bringing back from California?"

She waited too long to respond.  "There must be some mistake.  I don't know what you're talking about."

Iris sighed.  "Have I not already made it clear that I can kill you if I have to?" she said.  "Don't lie to me.  I've had more than my fill of that tonight."

From the direction of the station, a woman's shriek pierced the air, quickly stifled with a gurgling cry, and Stella stiffened, fear crawling down her spine.  She was fully awake now, and probably could've mustered the strength to focus her magic for one good spell.  She didn't, though.  Though she'd walked in a world of magic since she'd taken her first step, consorted with the occasional lwa in her vodou studies, coming face to face with the demonic visage of one of the monsters who dwelled in the shadows of her existence shattered any preconceptions about her own strength she might have had.

Part of her was intrigued by the vampire's power, jealous of the force she commanded, the fear she evoked.  Wasn't that why she had pursued the voix mortelle in the first place?  It was all about the power, and who had it.  In the face of that, however, an even larger part of Stella's being was screaming in terror, knowing full well that her life lay at the mercy of this soulless creature.  She didn't want to die, never had, and she wasn't about to encourage it now by doing something foolish that might anger the vampire.

"I traveled alone," Stella finally said, keeping her tone as light as possible.  "We thought it best that way."

"We?"  A carefully groomed eyebrow lifted.  "You have a we?"

"The girl is probably already here.  My friend brought her."  She smiled, desperate to appear calm in spite of her pain.  "Now, do you care to share how you know about the voix mortelle?"

"You humans are _so_ constrained in how you view your actions.  Did you really think you could try and toy with such powerful forces, and the demon world wouldn't notice?"  She shook her head.  "You disappoint me.  Here I was, hoping that the Stella I'd been hearing about was this brilliant tactician, coming up with this frankly ingenious plan in retrieving what's been lost this last century, and instead I get…you.  Pity."  She glanced into the sky, sniffing pointedly at the air.  "We should really get going.  The sun will be rising soon.  I can't very well protect you if I'm a big pile of dust, now can I?"

"Protect me?  From who?"

"From Spike and his Slayer, of course."  Iris' eyes narrowed as she scanned the blankness in Stella's gaze.  "And you have no idea who they are, do you?"  She didn't wait for a response.  "Strange.  He even had a picture of you.  It didn't do you justice, of course, but at least it gave me the means to recognize you here.  If he hadn't come waving that thing around…"  She let the thought trail off, lost in her musing, and began strolling into the shadows from which she'd emerged, ignoring the singer getting shoved along behind her.

Stella grimaced in pain as the vampire who'd been holding her roughly grabbed her arm.  "Are you going to tell me who this Spike is?" she asked of the female vamp's retreating back.  "And what's a Slayer?"

"At the moment, your enemies and a pain in the ass," Iris replied.  "A powerful pain in the ass, though.  Don't go underestimating him.  The vamp never ceases to surprise me."  She stopped, turning slightly so that Stella could see the profane smile distorting her smooth features.  "But this is your lucky day, because _I'm your friend now.  And I'm more powerful than both of them put together."_

*************

He had yet to sleep.  Though he could feel the heat of the morning light seeping through the walls of the cottage, Spike stayed in almost exactly the same position he'd been in ever since Buffy had led him to the bedroom---on his side, head propped up on his left hand, his right arm curled possessively around the Slayer's waist as she slept spooned against him.  He was going to have to wake her soon; the time on the clock kept ticking dangerously close to the bus' scheduled arrival.  Then, she would leave, and he would be forced to stay behind, prowling around until nightfall when he could make himself useful again.  He knew it was for the best---getting their hands on Stella was their best chance at locating Willow quickly---but it didn't mean Spike had to like it.  Buffy was still new to the city, and even in daylight, Iris was a formidable enemy.  He wanted to be able to be there to help her fend off any potential attacks.

This wasn't what he'd been expecting.  Being with Buffy was supposed to be all fire, and fighting, and maybe a laugh or two before one of them said something to piss the other off.  A lark.  A means of getting her out of his system so that he could go back to his orderly unlife, minus the Slayer fantasies and distractions that went with it because he would've had his taste of the wares and been satisfied.

Somehow, it wasn't turning out that way.

When did it get to be about tenderness, he wondered.  Or about feeling like I could drown in those little sighs of contentment she makes in her sleep?  He had been lost in watching her all night, occasionally lifting his arm from her waist to trace a finger along the slope of her shoulder, basking in the golden sparkle that seemed to emanate from her skin.  More than once, he'd leaned forward, just to inhale the scent of her hair, his nose nuzzling against her neck, and had been rewarded by tiny whimpers escaping Buffy's throat as she burrowed back against him.  He was hard, and though he'd considered the notion of rousing her with sex, fulfilling his promise of more, Spike held himself back, a lingering desire deep within…_somewhere wanting her fully there when it actually happened.  To have her know completely that she was making love to a vamp---._

Ice ran through his veins as his brain skidded to a halt and he viewed the wreckage of the thoughts that had just been racing through his head.  Making love?  Where the hell had _that come from?  Back it up there, mate, he told himself, and deliberately rolled over, extracting himself from her body to stare blankly up at the ceiling._

So…yeah, maybe once, or twice, or…hell, maybe half a dozen times, he'd considered what it would be like to be at her side all the time, to show up back at the Hellmouth hand in bloody hand, showing it off to her little slaymates, to be her back-up in the fight, able to watch her battle with unabashed pride.  Not having to skulk around after her like a sewer rat was a definite bonus as well.  He'd have a place again. 

Maybe that's all this was.  Maybe he was just hankering after a little respect and being at the Slayer's side could give it to him.  That could be it.  Probably all it was, really.

Except…

…and he couldn't help but turn his head to look at her as he remembered.  That look in those gorgeous eyes last night when she'd referred to him as hers to Pablo, stark vulnerability shining from the hazel, cutting honesty that he'd only glimpsed on the rare occasion when she was speaking to her friends.  She'd meant it.  There was no doubt in his mind that Buffy had wanted him to know how much she'd meant it, which was why he'd been unable to resist kissing her again.

And each time he did, he lost just a little bit more of his heart to her.

As he watched, a restless mumble accompanied the slightest of lines between her brows, and she turned herself over, her arm reaching out to flutter over his chest.  "You moved," she complained sleepily, nestling into his shoulder.  "I was all comfy."

The flush of heat as she pressed herself back into him spurred Spike to wrap his arm back around her, mouth lowering to brush lightly over her mussed hair.  "Goin' to have to rise and shine here, pet," he said, though having her get up was the last thing he currently wanted.  "The clock's tick-tockin' away, and you don't want to miss the songbird's bus when it gets in."

The mention of Stella drove Buffy's lids up, and she pouted as she lifted her chin to look at him.  "Spoilsport," she said.

He would forever be slave to that bottom lip, Spike decided, and had crossed the distance to take it between his teeth before he could even consider otherwise, feeling her yield to the nibble by rolling herself on top of him.  The arousal he'd been trying to ignore now ground into her pelvis, the delicate fabric of her panties the only thing preventing him from sliding into her then and there, and the vampire groaned as the nibble deepened into a kiss.

Say sayonara to another slice of that heart, he thought as he tumbled into the incandescent eddy of her caress.

When reason finally returned, strong hands grabbed her wrists, pulling them away from their bodies as he tore his mouth from hers.  "Not the best idea," Spike said huskily, not really believing it but knowing it had to be said.

Doubt flickered behind the hazel, and Buffy sat up, jerking herself free as a veil seemed to descend over her features.  "You keep trying to get rid of me," she said, annoyance shading her words in gray.  "You roll over, you try to kick me out of bed, now you won't even kiss me.  What's the deal?  You're not…having doubts…are you?"

Too fast, she thought.  I went too fast.  He's had time to think about it, and now he thinks this is crazy, and he probably regrets everything that happened tonight.  Fear gripped her heart.  How did I mess this up already?

His eyebrow lifted in sardonic amusement at her query.  "That has got to be the stupidest thing you have ever said, Slayer," he said dryly.  "Do I feel confused to you?"  To punctuate his declaration, Spike grabbed her hips, forcing her to press harder into his erection, watching as her pupils dilated, her mouth softening to part in reckless desire.  When she gasped in pleasure, he smiled, letting his thumbs caress the bones of her pelvis in soothing circles.  

It would be so simple to just say fuck it, Spike realized.  Ignore the rest of the world and surrender to their bodies, wile away the hours as they submerged themselves beneath the claret waves of the attraction they had both denied for so long.  A week ago, he probably would've done it, no questions asked.

But a week ago, she had yet to offer him the possibility of something more.  And for some reason, he found himself holding out for that.

"Red's probably in town already," he said in explanation, sitting up so that her legs scissored around his waist, her arms automatically coming to anchor themselves around his neck.  Tiny shivers cascaded down his vertebrae as her fingers toyed with the stray hairs there, and he cupped his hands around her back, holding her steady on his lap. "You and me, we've got all the time in the world to be wasting it away in bed.  It's Red whose clock is tickin'.  Something happens to her and you'll never forgive yourself."

He was right.  She knew that.  One of these days, all the stuff she'd been learning about him over the past week was actually going to sink into her skull and she was going to realize that Spike was a lot smarter than she gave him credit for without jumping to the wrong conclusion every time.  With a sigh, Buffy's head inclined, and she rested her brow against his, letting the tenor of his touch assuage her lingering insecurities.  "You know you're bucking for another comparison to Giles by being Mr. Maturity, don't you?" she teased.

He chuckled.  "S'long as it's my bed you come back to, I might be able to learn not to hear those," he joked in response, and grew serious, returning to the topic at hand.  "I was thinkin', while you're checking out the bus station, I can start seein' what I can dig up on whatever's goin' on tonight.  I know some people---."

"Ha!"  She couldn't help the bark of laughter that spewed from her lips, her head jerking back as the smile spread across her face.  At his confused stare, she said, "You're kidding, right?  I think we need to make that your catchphrase for this little trip down Big Easy way."  She did a bad impersonation of his accent.  "'I know some people.'  Maybe we should put a 'bloody' in there.  Might make it sound more authentic."  

Her joke fell on deaf ears.  "There's this guy, works down at---."

Her hand came to his mouth, settling over his lips to silence him.  "Look, Spike, I appreciate that you want to help here, but after what happened with Iris, getting any more involved in people or demons you might know is probably _not the best thing for Willow.  I mean, sure, if it comes down to a fight, I want you right there beside me because, let's face it, that's what you're good at.  I certainly heard enough of your war stories last night to have learned _that_ much.  But, whatever happens tonight, it'll be you and me facing them down.  __Just you and me, all right?  I don't want any more outsiders involved in this.  Just people I can trust."_

She didn't even wait for his response, leaning in to give him a quick kiss before peeling herself away.  "I'm going to hop in the shower really quick before heading out," she tossed back over her shoulder.  "Get some sleep.  I'll call you if I turn anything up."

Alone in the room, Spike stared at the open door, disbelief mingling with frustrated anger in his eyes.  Like it was _his_ bloody fault Iris had cottoned on to her being the Slayer?  _He_ was the reason they had as much information as they did.  If it wasn't for him, they'd be shacked up in some cheap hotel, scrambling for whatever leads they could sink their fingernails into, not calling it rich by sleeping on satin, or getting fancied up for a night out on the town.  Leave it to Buffy, and they'd both be dead, just because she couldn't control those impulses to stay away from vamps without a stake in her hot little hand.

As he heard the shower start up in the bathroom, he slumped back onto the mattress, staring into nothing as his emotions boiled under his skin.  Yeah, he was pissed.  He had a right to be.  She had just discounted everything he had done for them by turning it into a bad joke.  But, under that, lurking in the corners of his heart, cowering for fear of exposure that would shred him finer than worries about what was happening between him and Buffy, Spike was hurt, bitter throes twisting his gut as the simple joys from the last twelve hours fled in the face of reality.

Fists and fangs.  That's all he was to her.  After everything---after all her words, after all _his_ explanations, even after that damn "All of you" she'd uttered when he'd asked her what she wanted at the piano---she still only saw him as someone who could offer her some help in a fight.  Not as an equal, or even a partner.  Not someone with a brain to help suss out the answers, and the experience to contribute in getting past the problem.  In spite of her protestations to the contrary, she still didn't get it.

Fists and fangs.  That's all.

Spike's lips twisted as the memory of her pressing against him flared in his brain.  Don't forget cock, he thought bitterly.  Buffy's showed she's more than interested in that part of me as well.

But it wasn't enough.  Not now.  Not after everything.

I'll show her, he decided, letting his eyes flutter closed as the cessation of the water returned the cottage to quiet.  Let her think I'm goin' to sleep and as soon as she's out that door, do what I can to find out where Red is.  She'll see then.  She'll have to.

*************

"I think this is new," Tara said from her seat on the couch.  She lifted her head to gaze wearily at the two men in the room, watching as Giles rose from the desk to stand behind her and look down at the book that rested in her lap.

"What is it?" he asked, leaning over for a closer look.  They had had little sleep over the last twenty-four hours in their search for some answers.  He was ready to grab onto whatever straws they could find.  "Have you found the identity of the djab yet?"

"I'm not sure, but…"  Her fingers traced over the spidery words, searching for the passage she'd just found.  "I've been wondering why they would take Willow to New Orleans instead of doing whatever they need to here.  So, I was looking at the different djabs, and that was when I learned that some of them are restricted to where their power can be effective.  Like they're bound to it."

"Yes, I remember reading that as well," Giles agreed.  "But there are dozens of references to such places around New Orleans.  We have no way of narrowing our search parameters without more information."

"That's what I thought."  She was perking up, enthusiasm for her discovery revitalizing her worn features.  "Then I started thinking about how weird Willow acted around Stella the night she disappeared.  She got so wrapped up in the singing.  And that's when I found this."  Holding up the book, Tara kept her fingers on the text she wanted Giles to read, waiting expectantly as he took it from her grasp.

"'…and it sang with the serpent's voice, stupefying those who listened, until the mortals revolted and separated the tongue from the crown, destroying the power and banishing the serpent to the morass from whence it came."  The Watcher frowned, turning the tome over to look at the title on the spine.  "Where did you find this?" he asked the young witch.

She pointed to a nearby pile.  "It was one of the books Anya said she'd looked at."

From his seat on the floor, Xander sighed, leaning back on his hands in exhaustion.  "Have I mentioned recently how sorry I am I couldn't find her?" he said.  "I don't know what's going on.  I mean, I know she and Willow have never been best friends, but it still doesn't explain why she'd deliberately try to hide this stuff from us."

"She acted scared," Tara commented.  

"And Anya is not exactly known for remaining stalwart in the face of what she fears," Giles added distractedly.  He was scanning the text, walking over to the desk as he did so.  "This morass the tale refers to is located outside of the city's limits.  I'll ring Buffy and tell her about it so that she can look into it further.  Perhaps they will have discovered something else that will aid us in our research."

"Does anybody care to fill the non-college student on what exactly this morass is?" Xander asked.  "Because to these vocabulary-challenged ears, well…you _really don't want to know where my mind is going with that one."_

"A morass is a swamp, an area of soggy ground," the Watcher explained.

"Well, this just gets better and better," the young man grumbled.  "Vodou demons.  Swampy serpents.  Buff's going to love hearing about this one."  In spite of his jocular demeanor, Xander was blaming himself for the shambles everything seemed at the moment.  Anya was gone, and he hadn't been able to find her.  Willow was gone, and each day that passed made the odds of finding her even worse.  And Buffy was gone, on the other side of the country with the bleached wonder, probably running around in circles, all because they couldn't give her anything more concrete than "vodou."  Which brought him back to Anya.

The young man sighed.  What he wouldn't give to know what was going through his girlfriend's head at that exact minute.  Why did she feel like she had to hide from him?

*************

With a firm blow, Anya scattered the ash from the palm of her hand and watched it settle within the circle she'd inscribed on the floor, standing back to watch as the sharp clap cleaved the air, followed immediately by the brilliant flash of light announcing the arrival.  She folded her arms across her chest and stared back at the surprised face of Halfrek smiling back at her.

"Anyanka!" the vengeance demon exclaimed, taking a step forward.  "This is a---."  She stopped, halted by the invisible barrier provided by the circle, her smile immediately vanishing.  "What is this?" she demanded.  "You're _containing_ me?"

"I'm keeping you from going off in a cloud of smoke before I get some answers," Anya replied grimly.

She kept her face impassive.  "Oh?  Answers to what?" Halfrek queried nonchalantly, her hand straying to her neck to play with her pendant.

"Look."  Anya held up a warning finger.  "Now is _not the time to fuck with me.  I've been hiding out from my boyfriend for the last twenty-four hours, I'm tired, I'm hungry, and to top it all off, I'm PMS-ing like there's no tomorrow.  So, no more games, Hallie.  No more cryptic warnings.  Answers.  Friend to friend."_

"I was of the opinion friends don't cast containment spells to keep them from leaving.  Is that something you've learned from being human?"

"Friends also don't pop up out of nowhere with fake forewarnings of doom when they haven't bothered to keep in touch for the past year."

"I told you.  I've been busy.  And it wasn't fake---."

"Can it.  I'm tired of excuses, and explanations, and having to hide out from my favorite orgasm partner."  Sighing, she leaned against the table behind her, gaze firm as she stared at her ex-friend.  "Now.  I'm going to ask you one question.  You answer it truthfully, I'll let you go.  If you don't, I'll make you sit in there until the cows come home.  Got it?"

Reluctantly, Halfrek nodded.

"This mess in New Orleans.  The one you tried making me steer clear of.  Does this have anything to do with the voix mortelle?"

The tension was thick between the two women as they surveyed each other, neither of them willing to look away for fear of appearing weak.  Finally, Halfrek sighed.

"It's got everything to do with it," she admitted, resignedly.  "And D'Hoffryn is going to kill me for telling you that…"

To be continued in Chapter 14: You're Under Arrest…


	14. You're Under Arrest

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.  And the chapter titles are courtesy of Miles Davis.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Iris has intercepted an early-arriving Stella at the bus station, Buffy and Spike have had a minor argument regarding his getting other demons involved, Giles and the gang have discovered what they think might be a lead, and Anya has taken matters into her own hands and demanded Halfrek tell her what is going on…

*************

Suspecting what the hullabaloo was about was one thing.  Hearing it with her own ears was something else entirely.

As soon as the admission came from Halfrek's lips, Anya visibly deflated, her shoulders slumping.  "Crap, crap, crap," she muttered, shaking her head.  "Why do I always have to be right about these things?"

"I don't see _why_ you're having a problem with this," Halfrek said, casually inspecting her nails.  "Doesn't knowing what this is all about just make it _more of a good idea to stay away from it all?"_

"Normally, my answer to that would be a resounding yes."  The ex-demon sighed.  "But normally, Xander isn't having his heart ripped out of his chest all because of some stupid apocalyptic artifact."

Her friend wrinkled her nose, waving an elegant hand in dismissal.  "It's _hardly apocalyptic, Anyanka.  Inauspicious perhaps, especially for the local residents, but certainly not the end of the world."  The look on her face was condescending.  "Really, being around these humans is turning you into a veritable doomsayer.  There would've been a time you would've guaranteed yourself a ringside seat, just to enjoy the mayhem."_

"I _was_ there the last time, remember?  _You were the one who skipped out on all the festivities."_

"If memory serves, you were also the one who stopped them."  Her tongue tutted in admonishment.  "D'Hoffryn was not exactly pleased about that.  He complained about that for a decade."

Anya rose from where she was leaning against the table and began pacing the length of the small room, one nail almost constantly in her mouth as she chewed it away in nervousness.  "The girl made a wish!  I didn't have a choice in the matter.  And it's not like I destroyed it.  Although, you know, if I'd known that in a hundred or so years, I'd be human and potentially on the wrong end of the damn thing, I would've just turned it into a huge pile of goo and told D'Hoffryn to go screw himself."

Halfrek watched as the smaller girl prowled around the room, her large eyes wary.  "The question remains, Anyanka.  Now that you know…what are you going to do?"

It was what she'd been asking herself.  She knew what she _wanted to do.  The problem was, every time she considered her actions, Xander's face rose before her mind's eye, giving her the puppy dog eyes that said to her louder than words, "I'm so disappointed in you."  It's not fair, she grumbled, her face screwed up in frustrated anger.  This shouldn't be that big a deal._

"Crap," she muttered again, kicking helplessly at the table leg as she stopped before it.  Slim fingers drummed along the wooden top, before she sighed in disgust and grabbed her bag from its surface.  "Don't let anyone ever tell you that having a conscience is a good thing," Anya warned the bound demon as she marched past her toward the door.  "Because trust me.  It really bites the big one."

The sound of Halfrek pointedly clearing her throat stopped her.  "And did you forget something here?  Or maybe, _someone_?" Hallie called, her tone cold with annoyance.

Anya didn't even answer.  Instead, she just pivoted on her heel, tramped the few steps to the edge of the circle, and kicked over one of the candles that lined the inscription.  The flash of the vengeance demon disappearing forced another weary sigh from her throat.  "Tell D'Hoffryn I said hi," she said to the now-empty space.  "And thanks for nothing."

*************

There was no mistaking the bounce in her step as Buffy rounded the corner of the block, the sprawling shape of the bus station beckoning to her from across the street.  This must be afterglow, she thought cheerily, darting through the traffic.  Spike and afterglow.  Who'd've thunk it?

The brief interval that morning when she'd doubted his feelings regarding what had happened between them had shaken her more deeply than she wanted to admit.  She'd never really experienced anything before that could remotely compare to the happenings on the piano bench and the chat that accompanied it; the sudden fear that it would be a one-time occurrence had left a void in the pit of her stomach.  Spike had this uncanny knack for not allowing her to hide from herself, forcing her to confront her feelings even when she didn't want to, and though she personally found it more terrifying than having to face even the scariest of demons, the exhilaration that followed afterward was more than worth it.  For the first time in forever, she had woken with a sense of wholeness, a sense she knew she could only attribute to him.  There was no way she was ready to lose that just yet.

As she pushed open the doors of the station, Buffy was greeted with a blast of humid air and grimaced, feeling her tank top cling stickily to her back, a fine film of sweat beading on her upper lip.  Air conditioning must be out, she thought, blowing up at her forehead to loosen her hair, aiming herself toward the arrival screens.  It's gotta suck to be working here today.

It took standing before the monitors for almost five minutes, scanning over the green type, before the edge of her mood began lessening, her face settling into a frown as her gaze lowered.  Two steps took her to an empty customer service window, and she tapped on the glass to get the clerk's attention.

"Can I help you?" the clerk asked, setting aside the Glamour magazine she'd been reading.

"Can you tell me what time the bus from Sunnydale gets in?" she queried.  "I thought it was scheduled for some time around eleven."  She waited, glancing around the nearly empty waiting room, as the attendant tapped a few keys on the computer.  There must be some master blueprint they make bus stations from, Buffy thought distractedly.  They all look the same, no matter what part of the country you're in.

"Sunnydale, you said?"

"Yeah.  California."

"That got in early."

Buffy felt the bottom drop out of her stomach.  "How early?"

"Four-fifteen this morning."

The time hit the Slayer like a sledge, and she thanked the clerk distractedly as she stepped away from the counter.  Four-fifteen.  Seven hours ago.  That would be right about the time she and Spike had been…

Her mouth went dry.  While she'd been busy playing sex games with Spike, Stella had been arriving in New Orleans early, getting away from them yet again, sneaking off to do whatever vodou mysticism she had planned for Willow.  And Buffy hadn't caught her in time.

Though reason told her she had no way of knowing it would happen, the Slayer couldn't help the chagrin that rose in her throat, burning away its lining as her good mood vanished, to be replaced by anger, directed both at herself and at the singer.  What the hell was I thinking? she admonished herself.  Willow's more important than a fling with a vampire.  I should've known better.  I should've been here.  I should've---.

She was back at the window in a flash.  "Excuse me," she said, getting the attendant's attention again.  "Is the driver of the Sunnydale bus still around?  Or anyone who might've seen the passengers get off?"

"No, Ralph's already left for the day."  At Buffy's crestfallen face, the clerk added, "But I think Clyde's still around.  He was the janitor on duty last night.  I think he's still talking to the police about that woman who got attacked."

She had already half-turned away when the attendant mentioned the attack, and froze, sliding her gaze back.  "Attack?  There was an attack here this morning?"

"Yeah.  It made a real mess out by the bathrooms.  There was blood everywhere.  Clyde's been complaining all morning because nobody will let him clean it up."  The clerk gestured toward the double doors that led to the bus bays.  "They're all out there."

Buffy thanked him and practically ran through the doors, pulling the sketch of Stella from her purse as she did so.  Anything associated with blood was never good in her experience; she only hoped that the singer wasn't the casualty.  Or if she was, that she was at least still alive so that Buffy could get some answers from her.

The police were just walking away, leaving behind a portly man dressed uncomfortably in a pair of gray coveralls.  Sweat was dripping down his nearly bald head, and he was mopping at it with a stained handkerchief when the Slayer approached him.

"Hi," she said with her brightest, you-can-trust-me smile.  "You must be Clyde."

"I must be," he replied, "unless you're another cop, in which case I'm not."  Holding out the hanky to his side, he balled it into a meaty fist and squeezed, wringing the fluid from it so that it dripped onto the cement, then used it again blow his nose.

Buffy's grin faded slightly, and she lowered her eyes to draw attention to the drawing in her hand.  "No, not a cop.  I was hoping you could tell me if you saw this person this morning.  She came in on the Sunnydale bus."

He barely gave the picture a glance before shaking his head.  "Nah, don't know her.  Didn't see any of the passengers, actually.  I was out back emptying the trash when the bus got in.  Well, except for the woman who got attacked.  Her, I saw."  He stuffed his handkerchief into his pocket.  "Just wish they'd let me clean the mess up.  Nothing I hate more than things being unsanitary."

Thinking of the scrap of cloth he'd just used for his various bodily fluids, Buffy couldn't help the fleeing _somehow I doubt that from skittering across her brain.  Out loud, she said, "So lots of blood, huh?"_

Clyde nodded.  "I don't know what they thought they were doing.  They wanted to slit her throat, they should've just done it.  The lady's going to have a nasty scar on her neck now, I'll bet you.  Real shame, too, on account I don't think they'll ever catch the guy who did it."

If she'd had any doubt that it was a vamp attack, it was now dispelled with his mention of the woman's injury.  "Why's that?" she asked, folding her picture back up to tuck back into her purse.

"Because he was as normal looking as they come.  Average height, average weight, average everything.  Now, if they do the smart thing and look for the woman who was _with_ him, then, maybe, they might stand a chance.  _She_ stands out in a crowd."

"Oh?  How?"

"Well, by being about seven feet tall, for one thing.  She's probably a model or something, but what a looker like that is doing hanging around behind bus stations in the middle of the night is beyond me."

She was tempted to ask if the woman was blonde, but somehow, Buffy already suspected what his answer was going to be.  Vampire attack.  Tall, gorgeous woman loitering around at the same time Stella's bus arrived.  She had no doubt who it was, or what she was doing at the station at four in the morning.

Iris.

"Thanks anyway," she said distractedly, not even aware of being left alone when Clyde walked away.  Something was going on between Iris and Stella; all her lies and smokescreens the previous night had been completely for her and Spike's benefit.  She must've been keeping track of the schedules or had a contact here at the station to know that the singer was arriving early; it had to be the only reason she would show up.  

Something was going on tonight.  Something that the female vampire was very interested in.  Something involving a girl from California.  The reference to a girl meant it had to be Willow, but if Iris and Stella were in it together, why didn't the vamp know that she was traveling alone?  Unless she was just a ride, there to guarantee Stella's safety by picking her up in person.

She needed answers.  Iris had them.

Time to go see Iris.

Determinedly, Buffy strode over to the pay phone against the wall, digging around in her pockets for the scrap of paper she'd scribbled the number of the cottage on.  She was going to need back-up on this, and if anyone knew Iris, it was Spike.  Time to cut short his little beauty sleep and drag him over to the club.  Not like he's actually going to argue about getting in a good fight before lunchtime.

She frowned when the busy signal came over the phone line, hurriedly disconnecting before looking back down at the paper.  Maybe I dialed it wrong, she thought, and punched in the number again.  Still busy.

What's Spike doing on the phone? she wondered.  Maybe it's Giles.  A glance at her watch reminded her how early it still was in California, but past experience told her that the time of day didn't seem to make a difference to the Watcher when it came to research.  It could be he's come up with something that could help them find Willow.

Except she had their best lead right at her fingertips now, and the more time she wasted, the longer Iris had to get Stella away, or hide what they were up to, or any number of other things that could screw this up for Buffy.  Better to do it now.  Without Spike unfortunately.  Not with the cottage in the opposite direction of the club.  She'd just have to promise him first swing in the next fight they got into.

*************

They stood outside the closed door, golden eyes flashing in the dim light, fangs bared as they squared off with each other.

"I'm not waking her up!  You do it!"

"_I'm_ not doing it!  _You_ do it!"

"She likes you more than she likes me.  You do it."

"Are you kidding?  She's still pissed that I broke that black chick's rib.  _You_ do it."

"No way.  That Spike stomped a mudhole in my ass last night.  I'm not about to let Iris finish the job, just because I disturbed her beauty sleep."

"Maybe we should go get that black chick to wake her up.  She won't kill her.  She needs her for---."

"And _maybe_…," Iris growled, whipping the door open to stare at the two minions in undisguised fury, her black negligee swirling around her long legs.  "…I'll just kill all of you and start myself a new group of minions.  Ones that know better than to wake me up in the middle of the morning."

The two male vampires shrunk back at her verbal onslaught, pressing themselves into the wall opposite her bedroom door.  This was exactly why they hadn't wanted to do this in the first place.  Iris may have been scary when she was wide awake, but roused from her daily rest, she turned into the she-bitch from hell.  It didn't matter how good the reason.

A long moment passed, and Iris let her gameface slide away, folding her arms across her chest as she glared at the two demons.  "I'm up now," she said coldly.  "What's so damn important that you risked life and limb to do it?"

After a quick glance between them, the vamp who'd held Stella still at the station spoke up.  "It's Spike's girlfriend," he said.

Mention of Buffy immediately stilled Iris' tapping foot, and her eyes narrowed.  "What about her?"

"She showed up at the station like you said she might.  Jimmy called in from there to say she just left.  It looked like she was heading over to the club."

"She's on her way to Midnight?"  

"That's what Jimmy said.  He's been tailing her since she and Spike left last night, just like you asked."

"And she's alone?"

"Yeah.  Spike's still at the house Pablo set them up in."

She was quiet for what seemed an eternity, eyes contemplative as they focused on the empty space between her and the two vamps.  This was exactly why she didn't reside full-time at the club; it was much safer to have a separate place where she could disappear to when the need arose.  At the moment, the singer was sleeping away in one of the spare rooms of the sprawling mansion Iris called home, having already been tended to by the doctor, so Iris had no fear of her being caught.  Her true fear rested in the procedures that evening getting interrupted, and this Slayer was looking just a little too resourceful for her own good.

"I want Pablo here in ten minutes," she said firmly.  Her lips spread in a cruel smile.  "And in the meantime, get me Chief Thibaut on the phone.  I think I need to report a crime."

*************

If asked, Spike would've had to claim to being quite chuffed with himself at the moment, replacing the phone back on its cradle and stretching himself out on the bed.  After an hour of talking with half a dozen old cronies, he had all his chips lined up in getting the information they needed about Iris' little shindig that night.  Now, he just had to sit back and wait for them to come rolling in.

His anger toward Buffy had dissipated in light of his surprising glee at being able to one-up her on information gathering.  Show her, he thought, satisfied.  Thinks she's such a bigshot.  This'll prove to her once and for all I can be just as big and just as much of a shot.  She'll have to appreciate me for _real_ reasons after this.  _All of me._

The faint sound of pounding at the front door brought him to his feet, and Spike frowned as he went to answer it.  Probably forgot her keys, he thought, and then grinned at the sudden image of Buffy standing on its other side, small fist working away at the wood, face screwed up in annoyance because she was locked out.  See?  She does need me to do her thinking.  Can't even remember her soddin' keys.

The door had only opened a crack, with his body safely behind it to avoid the streaming sunlight, when a force from outside propelled it forward, shoving the heavy wood into Spike's gut and thrusting him against the wall with a muffled grunt.

"Spike!" Pablo called out as he rushed past him.

"Right here, mate," the vampire growled, kicking the door closed.  He glared at his guest.  "I know this is your place and all, but this storming in thing's got to stop while we're staying here.  It's gettin' dangerous."

The scaled demon ignored the admonition and whirled on his heel to look at the partially clothes vamp.  "Get dressed," he ordered.  "We need to get going."

"Oh?"  Spike cocked his scarred eyebrow.  "If it's a fire you're rushing me off to, hate to tell you, but I gave those up in favor of a longer life.  Survival instincts, you know."

"Well, that longer life is going to be all on your lonesome if you don't come with me right now," Pablo said.  He held his hands up in surrender.  "But, hey, she's _your girlfriend.  Maybe she won't be too pissed you let her rot in jail.  Because women are just __so understanding about that sort of thing."_

The amusement vanished from Spike's face as he launched himself at the other demon, strong hand wrapping around his skinny neck to thrust Pablo against the wall.  "What's this about Buffy and jail?" he said, flashes of gold buried in the blue of his eyes.  

Pablo scrabbled at the vise now blocking off his breathing, fingers clawing ineffectively at Spike's hand.  "She broke into Iris' club just a few minutes ago and set off the alarms," he whined through his gasps for air.  "Except she doesn't know it.  And at this exact moment, there's a whole bevy of cops on their way over to arrest her for breaking and entering.  We go now, you can get her out of there before they show up."  When the sudden release from Spike's hold dropped him sliding down the wall, he choked, pink eyes flickering over the vamp's bare torso.  "You might want to cover up before we go though.  I don't think you'd last long enough like that to risk a sunburn dressed like that."

He was halfway to the bedroom before the question popped into his head.  "How exactly do you know all this?" Spike asked suspiciously, stopping in the middle of the living room to look back at Pablo through narrowed eyes.

"I thought it might be a good idea to keep a lookout for you guys after what happened last night," the demon confessed.  If he could've blushed, he would've.  As it was, his gaze ducked, avoiding looking at his friend directly  "I had someone ready to follow you around in case you left.  I still have to live in this town after you leave, you know."  He frowned.  "Why would your girlfriend go to the bus station?  You don't think she's planning on leaving you, do you?"

The explanation satisfied him, and he continued his march to the bedroom.  "No," he replied firmly.  "I'm not letting her go anywhere."

*************

With a heavy sigh, Giles replaced the phone back on its cradle, eyes dark behind his spectacles.

"Still busy?" Xander asked from the couch.

"No," the Watcher replied.  "Now there's not an answer at all."

"Maybe they stepped out or something," the younger man offered.  "Don't worry.  Buff will be back.  Could be she's already found Willow."

"Yes," Giles murmured, though he sincerely doubted the veracity of Xander's claim.  A knock at the front door jerked him from his reverie and he strode the few feet to answer it.

On the other side, Anya affected a bright smile as soon as she was revealed, holding up the brightly colored box in her right hand.  "I come bearing donuts," she announced, but when she saw Xander rise to his feet in the depths of the room, shoving his hands deep inside his pants pockets instead of coming up to greet her, her grin faded.  

"And information," she added, not so helpfully, eyes darting between the disapproving faces of the two men.  "I can't tell you why Willow's gone, or what a half-baked witch with a lion's share of insecurity issues has got to do with any of this mess, but I can at least fill you in on some of the details you're missing."

"And you couldn't have done this yesterday?" Xander asked, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

"I wasn't sure yesterday," she complained.  "I had my suspicions, but…Look.  I'm here now.  Shouldn't that count for something?  I should get credit for that at least."

"We'll see."  Giles stepped away from the door, holding it open to allow her entrance.  His mouth was grim as she swept past.  "We'll see."

*************

It almost seemed too easy.  The club was deserted---well, it was deserted now that she'd staked the lone vampire who seemed to be guarding the place---and Buffy had broken the knob on the back door in order to let herself inside.  Though her Slayer senses told her right away that Iris wasn't around, a situation she suspected meant that Stella wasn't around either, this seemed like the perfect opportunity to see what she might be able to dig up on the vampire.  Maybe she had something in the bordello of doom that might tell Buffy what exactly was going on.

The scent of Iris' perfume hung heavy in the air as Buffy slipped inside, leaving the door slightly ajar so that she could make a quick exit should the need arise.  Her nose wrinkled in distaste.  Eau de Slut, she thought petulantly.  Must've had a killer sale at Tramps 'R Us.  

She knew she was being petty, but at the moment, the young blonde just didn't care.  It wasn't like Spike was there to scold her or anything.

She started with the liquor cabinet, quickly going through its contents before moving on to the rolltop desk.  Everything was neatly arranged, and while she found plenty of stuff regarding the running of Midnight, nothing seemed to hint at vodou, or Stella, or even Willow.  Just ledgers with long columns of numbers that looking at gave her a headache, and various notes directed toward the staff about policies and procedures.

"Now if I were an evil plot, where would I be hiding?" Buffy mused as she stood in the middle of the room and looked around.

"Not in the bloody living room, I can tell you that," sniped Spike from the doorway.

Her hair flew around her in a cloud as she whirled to see him leaning against the doorjamb, his thumbs hooked through his beltloops.  "What're you doing here?" she hissed, as if she feared someone could hear her.

"Saving your ass," he replied, and straightened, taking a step toward her.  "Let's get out of here."

"I haven't finished looking around yet," she said with a frown.  "And what makes you think my ass needs saving?"

"Because you tripped about a dozen alarms breaking into this place.  As we stand here wastin' time talking about it, New Orleans' not-so-finest are about to descend on you for your little b-and-e here.  Now, let's move it.  Pablo's got the motor running."

His hand curled around her elbow to guide her out of the room, but Buffy yanked herself away, staring at him questioningly.  "Pablo?  How did he know where I was?"

Spike rolled his eyes.  "Can we have this discussion _after_ we're free and clear?  Time and essence and all that rot, you know."

"But she's got Stella.  She picked her up at the bus station."

"And neither of 'em are here, so let's move it!"  His voice was rising in anger, his hand curling into a frustrated fist at his side.  If it wasn't for the chip, he would've just clocked her one and carried her out, then worried about the consequences after.  Of course, if he didn't have the soddin' chip, he wouldn't have come to New Orleans in the first place, so the entire issue was moot anyway.

He was surprised to hear her agree.  "Fine," Buffy said, brushing past him.  Blue eyes watched her back in curiosity, widening further when she paused in the doorway and glanced back.  "And thanks," she added softly.

His ire immediately faded.  Damn.  Was there _ever going to be a day when he didn't turn into a poofter when she looked at him like that?_

*************

When she stepped into the sunshine, Buffy stopped, brow furrowed as she scanned the empty alley.  "I thought you said Pablo was waiting," she said.

From his vantage point on the shadowed side of the door, Spike did his best to search the space where he'd been dropped off, his blanket dangling from his hand.  "He was s'posed to wait," he said.  "Maybe he had to drive around the block or something.  Give him a second."

The screeching of tires predicated four police cars pouring into the end of the alley, effectively blocking it off as a means of exit.  Buffy's lips tightened.  "We don't have a second," she said as she turned and grabbed his arm, ready to lead him back down the hall from which they'd come.  "Come on."

They didn't make it five feet.  From around a corner in the interior corridor, a trio of beefy cops appeared, all of them bearing weapons, one of which was a very deadly looking crossbow.

The two blonds skidded to a halt, heads swiveling to see a group of similarly armed men materialize in the alley exit.  "Something tells me we've been set up," Buffy murmured, body tensing as it prepared to fight.

"Remind me to kill Pablo when we get out of here," Spike said as he dropped his blanket.

"Freeze!" barked the nearest of the officers.  "Hands in the air!"  

"Do cops really say that?" the Slayer asked the vamp at her side.  "I thought that only happened on TV."

He shrugged.  "Looks like these do."

"I said, hands in the air!"  The order's repetition was accompanied by an audible click as someone in the doorway released the safety on his gun…

To be continued in Chapter 15: Recollections…


	15. Recollections

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.  And the chapter titles are courtesy of Miles Davis.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Anya has gone back to Giles' place ready to share what she knows, while Buffy and Spike have found themselves cornered by the police at Iris' club…

*************

The box of donuts remained perched in her hands, untouched by the others in the room.  Though Giles had pulled out the chair from the desk for her to sit upon, Anya had refused, steadfastly circuiting the room offering the pastries to the others.  It was only when everyone had declined that she stepped away from them, her smile fading into a frown.

"I don't get it," she complained.  "Willow casts a spell that turns Xander into demon-nip, Giles into Stevie Wonder, Buffy and Spike into the honeymooners from hell, and everybody forgives her just for baking you a few cookies.  Me, all I did was _not_ tell you about some stupid staff that has…I have no idea _what to do with our resident Wicca, and you won't eat one stinking donut?"  She waited expectantly for some type of response, but getting none, tossed the box down disgustedly on the desk.  "You know, this really blows.  I come back here, ready to the right thing, and not one of you is willing to cut me a little slack.  What's a girl got to do to get through to you people?"_

"Telling us the truth in the first place might have been a good start," Giles said sternly.

Xander stepped between them when he saw Anya's jaw drop, her tongue ready to lash out in a way he knew was not going to make the situation any better.  "Ahn," he said in the most reassuring voice he could muster, "you have to understand.  If you'd just said something in the beginning, Willow might be home already."

"Oh, because you would've found a way to magically intercept her wherever she is on the way to New Orleans, just based on some ancient history about the voix mortelle?"  Anya snorted, rolling her eyes.  "Highly doubtful, Xander."

Giles frowned.  "The voix mortelle?"

"That's what all this about.  That's what I came back to tell you."

From her seat at the end of the couch, Tara rose, smiling carefully as she stepped toward Anya.  "You know," she said.  "I think I'm hungry after all, and those look really good.  May I have a donut, please?"

Though she would've said before that moment that Tara was the one she least understood, Anya was grateful for the metaphorical show of support from the young witch and pushed the box toward her with what could almost pass as a smile.  "I got a little bit of everything," she explained.  "So that whatever anyone wanted, they could get."

"What we'd like is some answers," Giles said.  When Tara glanced back at him, her eyes steady, he attempted to hold her gaze but failed rather quickly.  "And perhaps a jelly-filled donut," he added, ducking his head as he stepped forward.

"So…you know _what_ this is about, but you don't know _why_ Willow's involved?" Tara asked quietly, wiping off some of the powdered sugar that clung to her fingers.

Anya sighed.  "I only know the history of what's going on," she elaborated.  "What's actually happening now is anybody's guess." She waited until even Xander had selected a pastry from the box, crossing to the front of the couch to pace as if she was about to give a presentation.  Her fingers twisted in the hem of her shirt as she moved, and it was only when Giles had perched himself on the sofa's arm, joining the other two who were seated there, that she stopped and faced them.

"About a century ago, give or take a decade, someone stole one of D'Hoffryn's favorite toys---."

"D'Hoffryn," Tara interrupted.  "That was your demon boss, right?"

Anya nodded.  "He's the one who got me into the whole vengeance gig in the first place.  Anyway, somebody stole the voix mortelle from his collection---."

"You mentioned that."  This time it was Giles who interrupted her.  "This voix mortelle.  What is that?"

"A staff.  Of sorts.  Magical.  D'Hoffryn has this fetish for phallic things, and being potentially apocalyptic? Well, that's just a big juicy cherry on top for him."  She took a deep breath.  "So, anyway, like I was saying---."

"Did you say, apocalyptic?" asked Xander.  "I thought we'd already met our annual quota for averting potential end-of-the-world disasters."

"Do you _want_ me to tell you this or not?" Anya exploded, hands on her hips.  "Because I'm very much getting the impression here you guys would rather have a round of twenty questions.  I can do that.  It might take you until Labor Day to find out what you want to know, but hey, if that's the way you want to play this, I'm in."

She was frustrated, her voice too shrill even for her liking.  Didn't they understand how hard it was for her to swallow her pride and come back here like this? she wondered.  Not to mention what might happen if D'Hoffryn ever caught wind of it.  Sure, she wasn't part of the fold anymore.  That didn't mean he couldn't still get angry with her and send someone after her to punish her for opening her mouth in the first place.  It wouldn't surprise her if he wasn't the reason Halfrek had showed up in the first place.

As before, Tara was the one who came to her defense.  "We're sorry," she said gently.  "Just…go on.  We'll be good."

"Yes," Giles added.  "Please continue."  As if by afterthought, he leaned over and plucked another donut from the box, showing it to her as if in offering before settling himself back onto the arm of the couch.

She surveyed them suspiciously before sighing.  "Where was I?" Anya asked.

"Someone stole D'Hoffryn's evil stick," Xander prompted.

"Oh.  Right.  Well, like I said, the voix mortelle was one of D'Hoffryn's favorites, so when it turned up missing, he was a little put out.  That's where I came in.  Things were a slow for me on the vengeance front so D'Hoffryn asked if I could help him find it."  She looked smug in spite of her earlier annoyance.  "One of my easier assignments, let me tell you.  Once the bodies started showing up, all I had to do was follow the trail they left behind."

"B-b-bodies?"  

Anya looked at her as if it was a foolish observation.  "Of course, bodies.   What, you think a demon's going to be interested in something that scatters rose petals in its wake?  Pretty, but not nearly as satisfying as a line of carnage."

"Right."  Giles cleared his throat.  "I presume this has something to do with the voix mortelle?  Does it…_kill_ people?"

"No.  It summons Sira.  Sira's the thing that kills people.  Eventually."

The name drove the Watcher to his feet, a frown furrowing his brow.  As the younger people watched, he strode over to one of the piles of books in the corner, kneeling to set aside the top few before picking up whatever he was looking for.

"You know about this Sira?" asked Xander.

"It's…familiar."  He turned a few pages, and then stopped, eyes narrowing as he quickly scanned the text.  When his gaze finally lifted, he stared at a waiting Anya.  "This is a serpent demon."

She shrugged.  "Yeah?  So?"

Tara's eyes widened.  "Serpent?  Like in that book I found about the singing?"

For the first time since she'd started her tale, Anya looked guilty, eyes darting around as she ducked her head.  "You found that one, huh?" she commented.  "I was kind of hoping…"  She blushed under Xander's level gaze.  "Never mind."

"So, these people who took Willow want to summon this Sira for fun and frolicking of the murderous kind," her boyfriend said.  "Didn't we get enough of serpent demons last year with the Mayor?"

"But that's not possible."  

"And why not, Ahn?"

"Because the only way to summon Sira is with the voix mortelle and I broke it."

"You…broke it?" Giles said.

"Betcha didn't get a Christmas bonus that year," came from Xander.

"I didn't have a choice."  With an exasperated sigh, Anya flopped down into the chair, leaning her head against the back cushion.  "By the time I found it in New Orleans, Sira had already been called.  The three who had done it were gathering power, using Sira to get rid of their enemies, pick out the demons they could control, that kind of thing.  The one who was in charge---God, what was her name?  Something French."  Her face furrowed, and the others waited in silence for a full minute as she struggled to remember.

Xander leaned forward, his hand proffered in a rolling gesture.  "The one who was in charge…?" he prompted.

"Right.  Well, What's-her-name had all these plans.  Huge, grandiose plans, which, now that I think about it, were really quite innovative for the time.  She certainly got D'Hoffryn's attention.  He actually offered her a job, in spite of the fact that he hated her so much for taking the staff in the first place.  But she didn't take it."  Anya rolled her eyes.  "It wasn't _good enough for her, apparently.  She always had this impression that she was above it all."_

"How did you break the staff?" asked Tara.

"I'm getting to that.  There were three of them---What's-her-name and her two partners in crime, Percy and Bettina---."

"How come you remember their names and not the ringleader?"  Xander's gaze was quizzical, elbows propped up on his knees as he leaned forward.

"Because Bettina's the one who put me to work while I was there," Anya explained.  "She and Percy were lovers, but by the time I showed up on the scene, they were constantly fighting because he kept challenging What's-her-name about who was going to be in charge.  He had the drive, but she had more power.  I found out later that she was a mambo before they got their hands on the voix mortelle."

"And good ol' Percy was jealous because he was only a lambada?"

Tara looked over at Xander.  "A mambo is a female vodou priestess," she said.

"I knew that."

Closing the book in his hand, Giles removed his glasses to gaze at the ex-demon with a frown.  "If you were put to work," he said, "does that mean Bettina made a wish?"

"Yep.  I was spending most of my time with her because she seemed to be the weakest link of the three.  I thought that if I had any chance of getting the staff from What's-her-name, it would be through Bettina.  Well, she found out Percy was using the power he'd obtained from Sira's summoning to consort with a whole plethora of female types, and went through the roof.  Next thing I know, she's babbling on and on about how much better things were before they'd stolen the voix mortelle, and how she missed it when things were simpler, blah, blah, blah.  And then bam!  She goes and makes a wish that the stupid staff would just get destroyed so all the madness would stop."

A faraway look came into Giles' eyes.  "'…until the mortals revolted and separated the tongue from the crown, destroying the power and banishing the serpent to the morass from whence it came,'" he recited quietly, the passage they had read only earlier that day echoing between the members of the group.  "It's referring to the staff, isn't it?"

Anya nodded.  "I was bound to grant her the wish, regardless of what D'Hoffryn might have wanted, so the way I figured it, instead of destroying it, I just…broke it.  Once it wasn't intact anymore, Sira disappeared back to wherever it is he comes from and Percy turned back into being the schmuck Bettina had fallen in love with in the first place."  She grimaced.  "Not one of my better resolutions, I'll have to admit."

"I don't get it."  Confusion colored Xander's face.  "How do you know what's going on with Willow now has anything to do with this?"

"Because the day after she disappeared, my old friend Halfrek stopped by to tell me to stay away from it all.  That it was going to be bad."

"And you just listened to her?  Without telling us?  Without telling _me?"_

The pain in his voice sliced at her conscience, and Anya suddenly found her nails highly intriguing, burying her attention into picking at them instead of meeting the gaze of her boyfriend.  "I brought donuts," she said defensively.  "Plus, as soon as I figured out what it might all be about, I made Halfrek spill.  I've probably pissed off a very powerful vengeance demon to do this for you, by the way.  You can just bet I'm not on her Christmas card list any more."

"Why would she try and warn you away?"  Giles was just as confused as Xander at this point.  "More importantly, if you broke it, why were you so frightened to tell us about it?"

"Did you not _read about what Sira does?  He sucks the life out of you, Giles.  Little by little.  And while that's kind of fun to watch if you're a demon, being human when he's wandering around does not exactly make me want to be inviting him over for tea and crumpets, because, hello!  _I'd_ be the crumpet!"_

"But you broke this staff thing," Xander argued.  "You said yourself that's the only way to summon him."

"You keep saying you _broke it," the Watcher commented.  He wasn't about to let this go.  "You didn't _destroy_ it.  It's still out there somewhere, right?"  When she nodded, he added, "And you're afraid someone's put it back together again."_

Again, she nodded.  "Of course, that means they have to _find it first.  What's-her-name disappeared with the stick part of the staff before I could stop her.  I tried for D'Hoffryn's sake, but the girl had some serious magical skills, and did I mention angry as hell?  You do not want to cross a hopped up mambo, let me tell you.  But I did get to hide the skull."_

Tara's eyes went wide.  "D-d-did you say…skull?"

"It sat on top of the shaft.  A child's skull.  The shaft was really quite pretty, with these serpents that wound around it and diamonds set in their eyes.  When I broke it, I basically separated it into two pieces.  I figured D'Hoffryn could just put it back together later.  But when What's-her-name vanished with half of it, he and I decided it would be better if we hid what we had until he could put the thing back together again."

"And you never found her?"

"Nope.  Like I said, she had some powerful skills, a lot stronger than we realized until it was too late.  We never did figure out where she went."

The group was silent for a moment, each lost in his or her thoughts.  Anya just watched the others, mouth grim.  She had been expecting to feel better about spilling the details of what she knew; wasn't that the whole point of having a conscience?  Know you're doing the right thing, do it, and then everything is good again.  Except she didn't feel good.  She felt like crap.  And her stomach was starting to cramp from denying herself any of the donuts.

"I still don't see where Willow fits in to any of this," Giles finally murmured.  The ends of his spectacles tapped distractedly against his knee.  "I just wish I could get Buffy on the phone.  She really needs to know these new details."

Taking a deep breath, Anya steeled herself for what she was about to say.  "Maybe it's time we thought about joining Buffy and Spike in New Orleans," she said, and then shook her head.  "I can't believe I just said that."

*************

Lifting her hands over her head in surrender was probably the last thing he'd expected her to do.

Spike's eyebrows shot up as high as her arms as he stared at Buffy in disbelief.  "Are you bloody kidding me, Slayer?" he demanded, not caring about the men waiting at either end of the hall.  "You're not actually giving in to these wankers?  They're human, for fuck's sake!  I've seen you---."

"Human!  Exactly!  The kind of things _you can't hurt and __I don't kill, remember?" she hissed back.  "Not only that, but humans with guns.  And crossbows.  Who are effectively blocking off the only two ways out of here.  One of which is full of UV badness."_

Spike pressed his lips together.  "So, that's it?  That's all that it takes to thwart the almighty Chosen One?" he asked, irritated.  He folded his arms across his chest in a deliberate show of non-compliance, ignoring the sound of another gun being cocked even as Buffy glanced at it nervously.  "A couple of gits in uniforms, some automatic weapons, and you roll over and show your belly?  If I'd known that, I'd've gone all fancy dress and guns when I first rolled into Sunnyhell.  Would've saved myself three years of torture, that's for sure."

The unbidden image of Spike as one of the Village People popped into Buffy's head, and her lips quirked as she fought to bite back the giggles that rose in her throat.  If he starts singing YMCA, she thought, I'm going to lose it for sure, although it sure would make one hell of a distraction.  

She turned her body just enough so that they couldn't hear her next words.  "I'm not interested in watching them dust you," she whispered.  "If we can get to someplace where I _know_ you're not going to go up in flames---."

"We just have to get past 'em," Spike replied, his voice just as low.  "You think a club owned and run by vampires isn't goin' to have underground tunnels?"

To be fair, she hadn't really thought about that and immediately frowned as her brain started to tick over.  "Do you know how to get to them?" she asked.

"Closest one is in Iris' quarters."  The corner of his mouth lifted.  Now this was more like it.  This was the Buffy he knew.

She contemplated it for a moment, and then shook her head, scattering his hope like dust.  "Too risky.  Willow needs me _now_.  I can't be wasting time playing sewer rat when I don't know this city."

"But _I_ do," Spike replied.  She was doing it again, dismissing his capabilities with a casual comment, only this time, a hell of a lot more hung in the balance.  Bugger if he was just going to stand by and take it, though.  The muscles in his cheek twitched as he bit down hard on his tongue, trying to maintain his cool.  "Stop bein' such a stubborn bint and open your eyes on this one.  _You_ get us past the old bill here, and _I_ can get us out.  All you have to do is trust me, Buffy."

His eyes blazed as she looked up at him.  He made it sound like she thought it was some kind of four-letter word or something, an impossible feat that not even a Slayer could overcome.  When her mouth opened to argue with him, however, Buffy stopped, her words to him from earlier floating back to her inner ear.  _Just people I can trust_, she'd told him.  But he hadn't believed her.  If he had, he wouldn't be asking her for it now.

So why was she hesitating?  _Because he's right in his disbelief_, the little voice inside her head whispered.  If there was a way out, she should be grabbing it with both hands.  It shouldn't matter that she wasn't going to be the one leading the way; she'd let both Giles and Willow lead before so it wasn't like it was anything new to her.

Except this was Spike.  Letting him lead meant letting down that last barrier between them.  No more denying that she needed him.  No more denying that he was anything more than a body, even if it was a very hot body.  It would be a leap of faith, a huge, gigantic jump for her to say, "Sure, Spike, here's my life and everything I love.  I trust you not to screw it up."

Could she do it?

Slowly, with a deliberation that made it appear to the waiting police that she was still complying, Buffy lowered one hand to wrap her fingers around Spike's wrist, tugging it upwards.  "Do what they say," she said loudly enough so that they could hear.  Before the flicker of hurt could deepen in the blue depths, she added in a voice only audible to the vampire, "I swear, if you screw up getting us out of here, I'll stake you myself."

A careful search of her eyes brought a ghost of a smile to Spike's lips.  She was doing it.  The doubts that he'd seen in the grey-green were gone, replaced by a grim determination and a pleading to not mess this up.  His shoulders squared.  "Right," he said, his voice overly fake to her ears as he lifted his arms up.  "Have to be all law-abidin' and such.  I'm smart enough to know when I'm done for, I'd wager."

She waited until the cop who had spoken was right behind her, reaching for her hands to slap them into cuffs.  At the officer's order, Spike had positioned himself against the wall, spread-eagled with his back to the Slayer, but a half-turn of his head showed him what was happening out of the corner of his eye.

With the cop's hand tight around her wrist, Buffy twisted her body, her leg lifting into a carefully aimed kick that landed on his abdomen, sending the man flying backwards into the pair who still blocked the way to Iris' quarters.

As he caught the first flicker of her movement, Spike reacted with lightning speed by ducking to the ground, grabbing the blanket and casting it towards the lot in the outer doorway.  The dark wool blinded them for a moment, lending him just enough time to go sailing in the opposite direction, and he dove over the jumble of bodies Buffy had created with her single assault.

"C'mon!" he yelled back over his shoulder.

She vaulted past the downed officers before they could rise to their feet and ran with Spike to Iris' door, following him in and slamming the door behind her.  He was right there beside her when she turned, hands pulling at the heavy couch to barricade the entrance, and she joined in hauling it the last few feet, the sound of footsteps growing louder on the other side of the heavy wood.

"Havin' fun yet, pet?" he asked with a grin, the twinkle in his eye unmistakeable.

"It'll be more fun once we're in the tunnels," she shot back, and then shook her head, unable to hold back her own smile.  "And I _really_ can't believe I just thought of stinky rat-infested sewers as fun."

Nothing more was said between them as Spike pulled aside the liquor cabinet, exposing the large hole in the floor that led down to the underbelly of New Orleans.  She watched him disappear, a small splash announcing his safe descent, and hurriedly dropped herself through the hole after him.

There would be time for words later.

Now was the time to run.

To be continued in Chapter 16: Blues for Pablo…


	16. Blues for Pablo

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.  And the chapter titles are courtesy of Miles Davis.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Anya has filled in the Scoobies on what she knows about the voix mortelle, suggesting it's time for them to go to New Orleans, while Buffy and Spike have slipped from the clutches of the police by disappearing through the tunnels beneath Midnight…

*************

More than once, the impulse to stop moving her feet and demand that Spike tell her exactly where they were going threatened to overwhelm Buffy, rising in her muscles with an insidious lethargy that she wanted more than anything to acquiesce to.  She didn't.  Instead, she matched every step, every hesitation, following the vampire as he wound his way through the tunnels, the splashing of their feet in the ankle-deep water the only sounds echoing throughout the cylindrical chambers.  It was only when he came to a halt before a ladder leading upwards, looking back over his shoulder with a predatory tilt of his head, that she stopped

"We've lost 'em," he commented.

She noticed then the relative quiet of the tunnel and grinned.  "And it only took ruining my new sandals with gutter spludge to do it," she quipped.  She looked down, flexing her toes within her shoes, watching the water ripple as the digits moved.  "Nothing like raw sewage squishing between your toes to give a girl that fresh out of the gutter feeling."

"If you're quick about it, you can clean up while I grab our things," Spike said.

"Too bad your so-called friends turned out to be double-crossing bastards," she said as she reached for a ladder rung.  "I was kind of getting attached to that cottage."

His hand on her shoulder prevented her from climbing, and Buffy turned to see him frowning at her.  "We wouldn't be in this mess if you'd left Iris alone, or if you'd bothered to take a minute to ring me first," he said.  His eyes were dark, and the tight grip he had on her muscle screamed out his frustrated anger louder than any words he might offer.  She shrugged him off.

"I _did_ try to call," she said, her voice bouncing back hollowly from the cement walls of the tunnel.  "I got a busy signal.  Which reminds me, what did Giles have to say?  Did you tell him what we found out from Pablo?"

It was Spike's turn to look uncomfortable, and he took a step away from her, long fingers reaching up to run through his hair.  "It wasn't the Watcher on the phone," he said.  "And I didn't get a chance to ring him before I was gettin' hauled out to save your ass."

She knew he was trying to distract her by switching the conversation back to her and Midnight, but seeing it only made her more determined to find out the truth.  Letting go of the rung, Buffy turned to face him, arms folded across her chest.  "What did you do, Spike?" she demanded, her tone clipped.

"Thought you trusted me now," he shot back.  "Or was that little show back at Midnight just because you thought handcuffs might chafe your delicate little Slayer wrists?"  

What had happened here? Buffy thought as she watched the muscles twitch in his cheek.  The vampire was furious and somehow, she suspected that if he'd been chipless, he would've been venting that anger with his fists on her face.  All she'd done was ask him who he'd been on the phone with, which shouldn't have been a big deal unless…

"You called some of your friends," she said in disbelief.  "After I specifically asked you not to."

"No, you _ordered_ me not to," Spike spat.  "And as much as I'm likin' whatever the hell this is that's developing between me and you, I am _not your own personal Jeeves to order about as you see fit."_

"I didn't order you!"

His eyebrow shot up.  "Funny way of askin' then, 'specially when you consider askin' usually takes the form of a question instead of a bald-faced statement designed to make me feel like some kind of fledgeling."  

"Stop making this about grammar one-oh-one---."

"You're right.  It's not.  It's about respect.  And the relative lack you give me."

"I don't respect you?" she queried in disbelief.  "What would give you that idea?"

"Do you not _listen_ to yourself when you talk to people, Slayer?  You practically slapped my hand about wanting to help in finding Red!"

"I told you I trusted you!"

"Only after immediately discounting any contribution I could make while I sat about and twiddled my thumbs, waiting for you to come back."

She stared at him, perplexed.  "Since when do you listen to me anyway?" she said.

Under his breath, Spike growled, and closed the gap between them, hands on her shoulders to yank her roughly against him.  His mouth slammed down onto hers, tongue forceful as he demanded a response, searching and seeking in a vehement lather as he poured all his frustration and desire into the caress.

She responded instantly, soft body molding to his hard one, moaning in the back of her throat as she matched his fervor with her own.  Each delicious swipe drove her closer, her fingers clutching at his hips as she instinctively ground herself against him.

Her breathing was coming in harsh rasps by the time he pulled away, and she closed her eyes as she felt him lean his forehead into hers.

"Been listenin' since I bloody well realized I could fall in love with you, pet," he said.  "And for a lot longer before that."

His words froze her muscles, staying her reaction to pull away and search his face for duplicity.  Inside the wall of her ribcage, Buffy's heart pounded, driving her blood through her veins in alternating hot and cold blasts.  Not from the fight, either.  From…oh god, had he really said it?

"You…love me?" she said, except it came out more of a croak, her voice hoarse in disbelief.  She pulled away then, desperate to see his eyes.

He mistook her withdrawal for something else.  "Didn't say that," Spike said, taking his own step backwards as the heat from her body suddenly seemed to dwarf the tunnel. He was backpeddling, fervently wishing he could it all back.  "Said I _could, is all.  Big difference there."_

"But…you've thought about it?"  She hadn't, not really, except…maybe she had.  Maybe going over and over everything that had been happening between them, watching his every little move especially when he didn't realize she was, dwelling on analyzing each word that passed through those incredible lips of his, maybe it all was just her subconscious way of working through what conscious Buffy would probably argue was total insanity.  Because she didn't love Spike.  She _couldn't_ love Spike.  That was crazy.

So was trusting him with her life.  But she'd done that.  And she was trusting Willow's life in his hands, as well.

Maybe not so crazy.

"Have _you_?"  The anger was gone now, replaced with a wariness that coiled his body as if to spring.  His fingers itched to reach out to her, but Spike quelled the urge, stuffing his hands deep inside his pockets as he watched her through his lashes, smelling the rush of adrenaline seeping from her skin like an aphrodisiac to his system.

"Have I what?"

It was somewhere between a guffaw and a snort.  "_Thought about it," he said, and dared to lift his head then.  "Thought about…where this us thing is goin'."_

"Thinking's never been my strong suit," Buffy said slowly.  How to talk her way out of this one?  She wasn't ready for this topic of conversation yet, but then, would she ever be ready?  "Willow's always been the one behind the brainpower.  Me, I'm fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants girl.  Follow my nose wherever it leads."

"And what's your nose tellin' you now?"  Spike's feet moved him closer, stepping without even his awareness, and his eyes glittered in the dim light of the tunnel.  

"It's telling me…that I really, really, _really want to take a shower before we find a new place to stay, because smelling like the Sunnydale dump?  Not the most romantic way to be having this conversation."  She risked stretching out a hand to poke him in the chest, hoping her joke wouldn't set off another tirade._

It made him chuckle instead.  All right, so she was avoiding the conversation but she had a point.  Scrambling through the sewers wasn't exactly how he'd envisaged hashing this out, either.  Spike took another step, grabbing her finger in his fist and lifting her wrist to his mouth, inhaling deeply before letting his tongue dart to lick at the pulse throbbing there.

"Funny," he murmured.  "All I seem to be able to smell is you."

All her attention was focused on the square inch of skin on the inside of her wrist that seemed now to house all of her nerves, and for a long moment, forgot what it was exactly they had been talking about.  When reason returned, she smiled and pulled herself away.  "That's because I'm the only one between the two of us with the non-creepy olfactory powers," she said lightly.  She turned, tilting her head to look up at the ascending ladder.  "Where exactly is this going to let us out?"

She didn't even notice that he didn't look up, his gaze fixated instead by the slender line of her neck as it stretched.  He was telling the truth.  All he really could smell was her, and it was eating him up that he couldn't just prop her up on the rungs and take her right there.  Though part of him wished he'd just kept his mouth shut, there was another, not so quiet, part of him that was whooping with joy that it was out there.  Hard to avoid what was hanging there right in front of your face; even the insight-challenged Slayer wouldn't be able to not address it sooner or later.

His cock strained within his jeans, and he shifted his weight to alleviate the stress.  They'd get their stuff, find a nice hotel somewhere, and spend the afternoon shagging before they went and found Red tonight.  Yeah, that was a good plan.  He could back a plan like that.

"I'm going to say, in the alley behind the house," he said in response to her question, finally glancing upward.  "Provided I didn't get us turned around in these tunnels."

"I'm not even going to consider that that happened," Buffy replied.  "You stay here.  If it's the house, I'll grab a blanket so you don't get all toasty.  If it's not, well, I don't know what, but we'll think about that later.  OK?"

Before he could say anything, Buffy grabbed on to the rungs and pulled herself up the ladder.  He stood back as she heaved the manhole cover aside, allowing the sunshine to stream down inside the dank tunnel, carefully avoiding any unnecessary burns.  She was only gone for a moment, her blonde head quickly poking down inside the hole as she thrust a blanket he recognized from his car toward him.

"Keep quiet," she said in a low voice.  "We've got company."

*************

He was in the kitchen when Buffy slid open the doors from the lanai, humming under his breath as he rummaged around in the refrigerator.  Though she was silent as she slipped inside, their surprise entrance was spoiled by Spike's furious stomping as he darted past her, the blanket firmly alight over his shoulders as he whipped it to the tiled floor.

Pablo's head popped over the refrigerator door, pink eyes wider than she had ever seen them as he stood, frozen, staring at the blonds in the living room.

Buffy rolled her eyes.  "So much for stealthy."

Her voice jerked the demon from immobility, and he came scurrying into the room to greet them.  "Spike!  What the hell happened to you back there?  I was waiting, and then I heard the sirens, and then---."  His words became a gurgle as Spike grabbed hold of his throat and slammed him into the wall, pinning him there very much like he had the previous night.  "Spike," he croaked, limbs flailing as he struggled to free himself.  "Man, what's wrong?"

"What's wrong?  What's _wrong_?"  Flecks of amber danced in the vampire's eyes.  "Let's just say I get a little brassed off when I get stabbed in the back.  _That's_ what's wrong."

His free hand shot out, his fist slamming into Pablo's gut, forcing out what little air the demon already had.  "I swear!  I didn't---."  Another punch silenced him, forcing him to gulp for air as his scales began to shade to a pale pink that matched his eyes.

"Spike."  

Her calm voice made him pause before he could hit him again, and the vampire turned to see a resolute Buffy staring back at him. "I'm kind of in the middle of something here, luv," he said.

"Don't kill him."

"Yeah, Spike, don't kill me," Pablo croaked desperately, trying to nod his head but failing miserably against the vise of the vampire's hand.  "Listen to your girlfriend.  She's a smart one.  She's with you, isn't she?"

Spike ignored his captive's pleas to gape at Buffy in disbelief.  "Are you kidding me?  I'm goin' to shred this guy into tiny little pieces and feed them to those sewer rats we got so chummy with over the past half hour.  Wanker sold us out to Iris."

"No, not the rats!" Pablo pleaded.  "C'mon!  I told you what happened after Kimmy dragged to go see that Ben movie!"

Buffy rolled her eyes.  "I just meant, don't kill him yet."  She turned her expectant gaze to the pinned demon.  "Not until I get a shot at him."

Spike grinned, his teeth catching the tip of his tongue in glee.  "Well, now that's more like it," he said, and tossed the demon toward her.

She caught him with ease, and shifted her weight to throw him to her other side, watching in dismay as he fell into the baby grand.  "So much for an encore performance of last night," she said, striding forward to slam the lid down on his legs where they lay tangled in the wires.

Pablo howled in pain.  "Get your girlfriend off me, Spike," he whined.

The vampire shook his head.  "No can do, mate.  She's got you bang to rights on this one.  You pissed her off, you pissed me off, and all because you had to throw a spanner into the works with Iris."  He shook his head in mock dismay.  "You should know better than to try to fuck with me.  I'm a helluva lot more dangerous than that bitch, and you know it."

"But, you and me, we go back, old friend, old buddy, old pal.  Remember the good ol' days?  Remember you and me and Dru and Kimmy and the whole debutante ball extravaganza---?"

"God, doesn't he ever shut up?" Buffy complained.  She wasn't even fazed by Pablo's struggles as he fought to right himself.  "He makes Xander look like Marcel Marceau."

Spike looked thoughtful, his head tilted as he gazed at their hostage.  "S'long as he's talkin', luv, I'm thinkin' we might be able to get him to say something useful for a change."

"Useful!"  Pablo latched on to the word.  "I can be useful!  Tell me what you want.  Anything.  Just name it."

"Tell us about this thing Iris has going on tonight then," Buffy said.

He immediately stopped his struggles.  "I'm not _that_ useful," he said, only to yelp as she shoved the lid down even harder against him.

"You're tryin' to tell us the Hedda Hopper of the New Orleans set doesn't know about one of the city's biggest player's getting her groove on with this Stella bird?"  Spike snorted.  "You're a lousy liar, mate."

"I'm telling you, I know nothing!"

A thoughtful look softened Buffy's features.  "Some of those sewer rats were pretty big, weren't they?" she commented to her partner.  "I'd bet they might be able to get him to talk.  Well, before they ate out his tongue, that is."

Pablo screeched in fright, setting off a cacophony from the hammers inside the piano as he tried to shrink away from the Slayer's hands.

"Now," Buffy said casually as she watched him writhe, "let's stop channelling Sergeant Schultz, and try this again."  She lifted the lid of the piano slightly, only to push it back down with a greater force.  "What do you know about what Iris is up to tonight?"

"All I know is that it's out of town," Pablo wheezed between pants.  His scales had shaded to a washed-out red, a combination of fear, pain, and his brief oxygen deprivation taking its toll on his body.  His eyes darted from Buffy to the lounging form of Spike behind her, watching as the vampire pulled his cigarettes from his coat pocket and lit one up.  

She sighed.  "I think Old El Paso here needs some encouragement," Buffy said.  "You watch him.  I'm going to go rat-catching."

She didn't even get turned around before he was shrieking, "At a swamp!  It's at a swamp!  Out of town like I said!  Iris told me she was closing Midnight for the night because she wanted to be there personally to watch the festivities."

"Speaking of tall, blonde, and bitchy," Buffy said.  "What did she say to you?  Why did she send the cops after us?"

He looked at her as if it was the stupidest question in the world.  "You broke into her club."

She rolled her eyes.  "I _know_ that.  But why drag Spike into it?  Obviously, she used you to get him down there.  Why go to all the fuss?"

"Been curious to hear the answer to this one myself," Spike said, and sauntered forward to stand at Buffy's side.

Pablo shook his head.  "I don't know."

The two blonds looked at each other.  "Now, why don't I believe him?" Spike asked.  Without breaking his gaze from the Slayer, he lifted his hand with the cigarette and placed the burning tip against the scaled demon's forehead, holding it there as it sizzled, the stench of singed scales permeating the cooled air.

"Ow!  Ow!  Ow!  I'll tell you!  Ow!  Get it off!"  He glared up at the vampire as he casually stuck the filter back into his mouth, puffing at it with a strong suck before exhaling the smoke directly into Pablo's face.

"So, I'm going to ask again," she said nonchalantly.  "Why go to all the fuss?"

The battle between his pain and his fear warred across his features, and his lips pulled back into a snarl.  "If you _have _to know," he growled, "she said you two would mess everything up.  She wanted to make sure you were locked up nice and tight and out of the way while whatever's happening out at the swamp played out."  He glared at them.  "I've told you everything I know.  Can I go now?"

She ignored his plea and turned to Spike.  "I don't suppose you're an expert on outlying swamps, too," she said.

He shrugged.  "Can think of two off-hand."  His eyes flickered to Pablo.  "Where's Iris pulling her little party?"  

The demon's mumbled response prompted another shove of the piano lid and he repeated his reply, barking it in a louder, sharper cry.  "Sira Sommeil, Sira Sommeil.  Are you happy now?"

Buffy looked at her partner expectantly, and smiled when he nodded.  "Yep," she chirped.  "Much better."

Pablo's gaze settled on Spike.  "I guess you outdid yourself this time," he commented.  "She's as crazy a bitch as Dru ever was."

"Hey!"  Indignation sharpened her voice, and her fist shot out automatically, slamming into his unsuspecting face, driving it back against the piano to shatter the frame he was leaning against.  Pablo's eyes rolled back into his head, his lids fluttering closed, and all his muscles went lax at once.

She waited for a long moment, staring at the unconscious demon.  "Oops," Buffy finally said.  "Guess that means show and tell is officially over."  She looked at Spike.  "Do you know what we need to know to get to this whatchamacallit tonight?"

He nodded.  "We need to get out of here before we get any more surprise visitors," he said.  "No tellin' how long it's goin' to take Iris to figure out we're not in jail and send her guys after us.  You go grab a quick shower.  I'll keep an eye on Pablo here and make sure he doesn't come around and try and sneak away."

Buffy pivoted on her heel and was halfway across the room before she stopped.  "Just for reference, you're not planning on killing him, are you?" she queried.  "Not that I'm against it, but he's not really a menace to us anymore, is he?"

He contemplated the decision for a moment and then shook his head.  "I think it's better we let him live," Spike replied.  "He can let the other demons in town we mean business and not to try and fuck with us again."

She had crossed back to him before he realized it, taking his face between her hands and pulling him down for a hard kiss.  He was startled, but quickly eased into it, letting his hands slide around back to pull her against him.

"We make a pretty good tag team," Buffy breathed when she finally pulled away.           

His face nuzzled into her neck, inhaling her scent.  "That, we do," Spike murmured.

The cool line of his cheekbone stroked her jaw as he seemed to burrow into her flesh, and Buffy felt the familiar rise of goosebumps prickle her bare arms, her mouth watering for another of those kisses that seemed to make her forget where she was, what her purpose was.  It took her a moment to realize that the feeling that was swelling within her chest was awe, a stunned wonder at what had just happened with the vampire.

He'd deliberately chosen not to kill Pablo.  His argument about letting him live as an example was a weak one; even she knew that.  And yet, he'd not balked, or questioned her indirect decision.  The ramifications of what that meant spread further than she knew he realized, and she felt one of the weights of worry that had been troubling her dissipate.

Her mouth lifted to his ear.  "Just for the record," Buffy murmured, her breath warm, tickling the fine whorls.   "I _have_ thought about it."

She didn't stay for his reaction, but broke from his embrace to sprint for the bathroom.  It was hard enough admitting the words.  She wasn't sure she had the fortitude to face the consequences of what it might mean for him to hear them.

He was left with his skin tingling, the heat of her body still warming his.  Slowly, the smile spread across Spike's face, and he sat down on the still-intact piano bench, leaning against the keys as he listened to the shower start up.  Maybe not so insight-challenged, he thought happily.  Just needs the proper persuasion to face up to it.  Whoever would've thought that that persuasion might be me…?

To be continued in Chapter 17: That's What Happened…


	17. That's What Happened

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.  And the chapter titles are courtesy of Miles Davis.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  The Scoobies know more about what's going on and have decided to go to New Orleans, while Buffy and Spike have come across Pablo back at the cottage and gathered just a little more information regarding Stella's plans for Willow…

*************

He had the phone to his ear when she walked back into the cottage.

"Still no answer?" Buffy asked, casting a quick glance at Pablo's unconscious form in the piano.

Spike shook his head, replacing the receiver back on its base.  "I tried Harris' place, too, but same thing.  Ring ring, and then the bloody answering machine.  Someone needs to tell the boy to change his message.  Alf stopped bein' funny five minutes before it ever hit the airwaves."

She didn't even hear the gibe at Xander as she frowned at the vampire's words.  "Where do you think they could be?  Unless we missed some weather report telling the world that hell has officially frozen over, there's no way Giles abandoned researching this."

"Rupert still has to eat, luv.  He probably just ran to the shops or something.  We'll try again when we get to the hotel."

She didn't like it, but in light of their current time crunch, Buffy knew she didn't have much choice in the matter.  They couldn't afford to be sticking around the cottage longer than necessary, and though she really wanted to know why neither Giles nor Xander was home, she couldn't afford to dwell on it when they could just continue their efforts once they got somewhere Iris couldn't find them right away.  

A pang of guilt about not having the phone numbers of her best friends' significant others memorized stabbed in Buffy's gut, but then again, she'd never really considered the possibility that Giles might not be home.  It seemed like all he did was Watcher-related, although there had been that time when the gang had said they'd caught him singing in public.  Not that she thought that was what he was doing now, but…She shook her head.  Rambling was going to get her nowhere.  They'd just try again when they got someplace safe.  And she'd call information and get Anya and Tara's numbers, too, just in case.

A soft plink came from the piano, and Buffy broke from her reverie to see Spike shifting Pablo's body, his hands burrowing into the demon's clothing.  "What are you doing?" she asked.

"What's it look like I'm doin'?" he replied, and promptly extracted a large wallet.  "The way I figure it, he owes us this."

"You can't take his wallet, Spike!"

"I'm not."  He grinned, the wad of bills that had caused the billfold to bulge disappearing into his duster pocket.  "I'm takin' his cash."

With three strong steps, Buffy was at his side, pulling the money from his coat.  "I'm not lettin' you do this," she said and tried to grab at the wallet, only to sigh in exasperation when he held it over his head, out of her immediate reach.  "We're not stealing from him.  That would be wrong."

Spike's eyebrow shot up in surprise.  "You've got no problem torturing a zemmiphobic Luravian demon with the sewers but you won't nick a few bob off him?  Has anyone ever told you your priorities are _seriously out of whack here, Slayer?"_

"Hey!  My priorities are perfectly _in_ whack, thank you very much.  And what's being afraid of the Marx Brothers got anything to do with anything?"

He stared at her blankly for a long moment while the latter part of her statement sank in, then rolled his eyes even as the smile came dancing to his lips.  "I said _zemmiphobic_, not _zeppophobic_, you silly chit.  Rats.  His thing about rats, remember?  Which only goes to prove what I said about your soddin' schools over here---."

Buffy held up a hand.  "Don't.  Start," she warned.  "Or you'll force me to start addressing you as Giles Jr.  Or maybe just Junior."  She grinned.  "Somehow I don't think you want me to get used to calling you names that imply something little."

He snorted.  "You just give me a chance, pet.  I'll show you what's not---."

She surprised him by jumping up, snatching the billfold from his grasp and landing back on her feet before he could finish the sentence.  Tucking the money back into the worn leather, she tossed it back into the piano.  "Oh, look," she said brightly.  "Issue over."

"Slayer---."

"I've decided I want a Holiday Inn or a Marriott or something like that this time," Buffy said as she grabbed his hand and began pulling him toward the front door.  "Maybe even a suite.  I think we deserve a suite, don't you?"

"Can't bloody afford a suite now," Spike grumbled, but his amusement belied the gruffness of his tone.  Not that he exactly got what her problem was in taking Pablo's money---after all, the wanker had sold them out and then had the balls to come back to their place to rummage through their fridge---but the sight of her righteous indignation coupled with the warmth of her hand in his was enough to make it a non-issue for him.  Besides, they were on their way to fresh beds---or just one if he could help it---with hours to squander before they had to get out to Sira Sommeil.  The last thing he currently wanted was for her to get pissed at him for something as trivial as a few bucks.  Not with what he had planned. 

*************

He waited a full five minutes after the door closed before even daring to open an eye.  His forehead hurt from the cigarette burn, and his jaw was a little sore from the Slayer's punch, but all in all, Pablo had to admit that he'd gotten off a little easy from their torture session.  Of course, Iris might have different ideas about that once she realized Spike and Buffy knew where she was going to be that night, but it didn't stop him from being relieved he didn't have to worry about the rat dreams returning.  Kimmy got a little annoyed when he started slapping her in his sleep, thinking she was one of the rodents out to chew him alive.

Slowly extracting himself from the rubble that was the piano, Pablo saw his wallet fall to the floor, some of the bills escaping to flutter against the smooth surface.  He shook his head.  Spike's going soft, he thought.  Slayer-whipped and he doesn't even know it.  At least they hadn't started making out in front of him again.  He didn't think he could've faked his unconsciousness if he'd had to listen to them macking on each other.  One kiss from them and his gagging noises would've been sure to give him away.  He was just going to have to thank the hellgods for small favors.

Pablo grimaced as one of the piano legs finished crumbling, sending the instrument crashing to the floor on its other side.  Spike's just lucky I've got insurance, he thought irritably, nudging the debris with his foot.  Here's hoping Iris teaches him a real lesson when he crashes her little swamp party.

It was the thought of Iris that made his blood run colder, and his eyes slid to the telephone.  She was going to _kill_ him when she found out Pablo was the reason Spike and his girlfriend were able to poke their noses into her business tonight.  No, first she'd probably have him flayed and left in the rodent cage at the zoo, _then_ she'd kill him.  Of course, death would be welcome at that point, he couldn't help but believe, but it didn't stop the thought of it from making his scales crawl.

Gotta be a way to fix this, his head rushed, and stood there in silence, staring at the phone.  Trying to stop Spike and Buffy on his own was pointless; they'd already proven they could take him in a fight if it came down to being only him.  He would just have to find someone else to stop them.  Or, even better, Iris could stop them herself.  She was going to be pissed enough when she found out they escaped the police; she would probably be grateful for the opportunity to teach them a lesson, once and for all.

His hands were shaking slightly as he punched in the number on the telephone, and he found himself wishing that Iris wouldn't be there.  He wasn't sure he had the nerve to talk to her directly and if she answered---.

"What do you want?"

He took a deep breath.  Good.  A lackey.  This could be OK.  "It's Pablo.  I need to talk to Iris.  It's urgent."

"She's not here."

Even better.  "It's imperative I get a message to her before sundown.  If I tell it to you, can you see that she gets it?"

He heard some faint rustling of paper.  "Yeah.  Go ahead."

"Spike found out about Sira Sommeil tonight.  He's planning on showing up there with that Slayer girlfriend of his."

The sound of scribbling.  "Iris isn't going to like this."

"That's why I'm calling.  This way, you guys can stop him.  You'll…make sure Iris knows _I _was the one who warned you, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever."

The receiver went dead in his hand and slowly Pablo set it back down.  There.  He'd done pretty much all he could.  Iris would know about Spike, she'd be so happy about getting the heads-up she wouldn't hurt Pablo _too badly about letting the secret slip in the first place, and life in the Big Easy could return to normal.  _

Still…probably wouldn't hurt to get out of town for a day or two.  

*************

From his vantage point in the doorway, Xander watched as his girlfriend tried sitting on the top of her suitcase in an effort to close it, the pale line of a shirt sleeve caught in the lid poking its way out of the side.  He sighed.  "We should only be there for a couple days, Anya.  There's no reason to pack your entire summer wardrobe."

"Do you have any idea how _hot it is in New Orleans this time of year?" she said, leaning forward to try and force the clasp together.  "It makes the Hellmouth feel like the Arctic Circle."_

His mouth was open to suggest that she just go without clothes if it was that hot when the realization that she probably would stopped his tongue, flashes of Giles and his potentially screaming reaction flitting across his mind.  Instead, he said, "With as much time as you're taking, I'd almost say you didn't want to go."

Anya's head jerked up.  "_I'm_ the one who suggested it, if you care to remember," she snapped.  "But if you're implying that perhaps I'm reluctant to have to face pain and torture and the inevitable sucking of life from my body, then yes, maybe my need to overpack has slowed my pace just a little."  She stood up and began yanking clothes from the suitcase, tossing them onto the floor before slamming the lid shut again.  Its closing click was loud in the small bedroom.  "There?  Happy now?"

"Ahn, look…"  He stepped forward, turning her around to look at him, his hands on her shoulders.  "I said I was sorry about the way I reacted.  It's just…Willow's been my best friend for as long as I can remember.  Do you know how much I hate the fact that I've been stuck here while _Spike_ of all people gets to go with Buffy and do the rescuing?  That should've been me.  And it would've been if we'd known what this was all about from the start."

"How many times do I have to tell you, I didn't know for sure that this _was_ what it was about until this morning?"  She pulled herself away, her arms folded across her chest as she struggled to restrain her temper.  There had been a lot of yelling already on the way over from Giles', and frankly, she was tired of it.  She just wanted to get on with the making up.  

"I don't want to fight about this anymore---."

"Then stop bringing it up and carry my bag out to the car."  She brushed past him, expecting his warm grasp to stop her, and felt her heart constrict when she made it all the way to the door without his moving.  Slowly, Anya turned to look back at him.

"You know…"  His eyes were soft, but his mouth unsmiling.  "I dated Cordelia.  I've been at the brunt end of the Mistress of Manipulation.  Don't do this, Anya.  This isn't about you.  This isn't about me.  This is about doing what's right."

"But…I _did_ the right thing.  I told you all I knew as soon as I had confirmation."

"I just hope it was soon enough."

"It's going to have to be, Xander.  And you want to talk about manipulation?  How long are you planning on making me feel guilty about this?   Because maybe if I can put a note on my schedule about how long I can expect to be raked over the coals about something that wasn't completely my fault, it just might make it easier for me to deal with."

"I'm not---."

"Yes, you are."  Anya took a step closer to him, her body stiff but her eyes pleading.  "Why are your little Scooby rules so different for me?" she asked.  "Please explain it to me, because I just don't get it.  Willow can screw up royally and then get instantly forgiven, but I have one lapse in judgment and I'm the leper of the century?"

"It's more complicated than that---."

"No, it's not.  I mean, it's hard enough having to live with the fact that no matter what I do, Buffy and Willow will always be more important to you than me, but---."

"What?"  His gaze was incredulous.  "Ahn…why would you say such a stupid thing?"

Her returning look was just as bewildered.  "Because it's true."

Xander moved then, reaching out to brush back the hair from her face.  "I can't believe you feel like that," he said.  "Don't you know how important you are to me?"

"No, I don't."  She could feel tears start to well behind her eyes, and straightened her shoulders, not ready to let them fall just yet.  "All I'm asking for is a little understanding, and so far, the only one who's been halfway human about my little faux pas is Tara.  Don't you think if she can be big about this, you and Giles can too?"

His gaze hardened, his hand falling back to his side.  "It's not the same thing.  She hasn't known Willow for as long as we have."

"That doesn't mean she cares about her any less."  Anya shook her head.  "Newsflash, Xander.  How strong your feelings are for someone isn't necessarily directly proportional to the amount of time you've been in their life.  Take it from the ex-vengeance demon who saw a millennia worth of relationships, even if they weren't all happy-go-lucky."  She dropped her eyes, her muscles suddenly weary.  "Can you please get my bag?" she asked.  "Giles is going to get pissy if we miss our flight and he has to rebook everything.  The last thing I need right now is another strike against me."

He watched her turn and disappear out the doorway, his body still not capable of following.  Good thing Willow's not here to witness my tremendous foot-in-mouth disease, he thought.  She had a rough enough time telling us about Tara in the first place.  I can't believe I said that about me and Giles.

But he had, and what scared him most was that part of him actually meant it.  It was wrong, and it wasn't fair to Tara, but it didn't stop the feelings of ownership that he had about his oldest friend, the over-developed sense of responsibility he had for her welfare.  Logically, he knew Anya was right, but emotionally, that was a whole 'nother kettle of fish.  Salmon swimming upstream against the current of reason.

And if he didn't get them under control soon, he was going to lose Anya as a result.

*************

He was stretched out on top of one of the double beds when she dumped the last load from the car inside the door, hands behind his head, ankles crossed as he watched her collapse into the chair by the window.

"Next time we stay someplace requiring luggage," Buffy grumbled, pushing back the damp strands of hair from her forehead, "I vote for post-sunset check-in time.  You're getting off way too easy on this whole moving in and out thing."

"I unloaded at the cottage when we hit town," Spike replied with a smirk.  He watched as she picked up the brochure that sat in the middle of the table at her side, using it to fan her face.  A single rivulet of sweat ran down the side of her neck, detouring slightly along the contour of her collarbone, hesitating as if aware it had an audience, before continuing its lethargic slide down her chest.  His gaze followed it down, his demon within growling in need, and felt his skin pulse as it disappeared between her breasts.

"'Sides," he continued, his voice huskier.  "I think I prefer the hot and bothered version of Buffy.  Kind of…primal."  His tongue ran along the edge of his teeth.  "Sexy."

She wrinkled her nose.  "Ewww.  Kind of stinky, you mean," she replied, oblivious to his scrutiny.  "So much for showering before we left.  I swear I can still smell sewer rat in my hair."

Spike growled.  Surprisingly enough, the possibility of bathroom sex hadn't occurred to him.  "Shower sounds good," he drawled.  He hadn't had one back at the cottage; maybe he could use this as an excuse to get his hands on her instead.  His head was flooded with sudden images of lathering her up, rinsing her down, her golden body arching back against him...

"Maybe after I unpack," she was saying, and he frowned as she rose from her seat and tossed her bag onto the other bed, unzipping its top and pulling her things out.

"What's the rush, pet?" he quizzed, sitting up and reaching for his cigarettes where he'd tossed them on the nightstand.  "We can't go anywhere until sunset anyway.  We've got hours to waste here."

"Spike, you can't smoke in here."

His hand stopped midway.  "And why's that?"  When Buffy pointed to the sign attached to the wall, he grimaced.  "You couldn't have asked for a smoking room?"

"You can smoke outside."

"And go poof in the process.  No thanks."

"Here."  She reached into her bag and tossed something at him.  "You want something in your mouth, use this."

He held up the brightly wrapped candy.  "A lollipop?  I'm not some bleedin' Munchkin, luv."  In spite of his grumbling, though, he pulled the cellophane off and shoved the sweet in his mouth, rolling it around his tongue as he watched her pull more items from her duffel.

"I still have to get a hold of Giles," Buffy said.  "And if that means sitting on that phone hitting redial until the sun goes down, then I'm going to do it."

"Don't have to."  His smug tone took her off-guard, and she hesitated in transferring her clothes to the drawers.  "Already called Rupes and left him a message about where we're at.  Complete with room number.  We just have to wait for him to call us back.  So, all sorted."

"Oh."  Her eyes settled on his, searching the blue depths.  So much had happened over the past twenty-four hours.  It didn't really seem possible that just this time yesterday she had been wandering around the French Quarter, trying to find that butcher for Spike.  Then last night at Midnight, the kisses, the dancing, seeing him in his element.  And the piano…

Her skin flushed at the memory.  Should've been just a little rougher with Pablo, Buffy thought.  He's the reason we didn't go any further.  

And it was the further she was contemplating now.  Today had been kind of rough, with the misunderstandings and arguments, but their teaming up on their would-be betrayer had forced the camaraderie to return to their relationship, putting them back on the same side.

And how weird is it to think of me and Spike on the same side? she wondered.  Except it wasn't weird, not after everything.  Certainly not after what she'd practically admitted to him before her shower.  Love Spike?  It could happen, she knew that now.  Maybe that was what Riley had meant by everything, about his belief in her failure to commit to their relationship.  Maybe he had seen something there that she hadn't.

She was still unpacking as she mused, although more as an autonomic response than anything else, watching the vampire on the bed as if trying to figure out what to say next to him.  He had rolled onto his side as she moved, head propped up in his left hand, hooded gaze glued to every motion she made, while his right hand kept hold of the lollipop in his mouth, cheeks sucked in as he worked at the hard nub of candy.  Every once in a while, his lips would part, and Buffy would see his teeth firmly trapping the stick in place, the sounds of his sucking reminding her of his tongue doing all those naughty tricks to her on the piano bench.           

Her fingers tingled as if from unseen electrical shock, the slightest of tremors compelling her to hasten, stuffing her clothes into the drawers with an uncharacteristic disinterest.  When they pulled out the necklace she'd received in the market, though, she had barely turned away when Spike's voice cut through her fugue.

"What's that?" he asked.

It wasn't a casual inquiry.  The tone of his voice had sharpened, his body tensing as he stared at the leather bag dangling from the string, and she looked over to see the sweet forgotten in his grip.

Buffy frowned.  "It's a gris gris," she said.

Spike rolled his eyes.  "I know _what_ it is.  The question is, why the hell do you have one?"

"I got if from the woman who gave me directions to the butcher.  Didn't I tell you about that?"

"Not about this part," he growled, and bolted to his feet, tossing the candy to the side before snatching the charm from her grasp to look at it more closely.  "Why'd she do it?  Did you ask her for one?"

"No.  She just gave it to me.  She said something about 'even those who are chosen need protecting.'  Or something like that."

At the word "chosen," Spike's head shot up, eyes blazing into hers.  "Jesus, Buffy, are you telling the whole bloody city who you are?  It's no wonder Iris sussed us out!"

"I didn't!" she shot back.  Her temper was rising now, his own edginess serrating her mood to elevate it to his level.  All thoughts of romantic intimacy vanished in his mood shift, and she squared off with him, head thrown back. "She just knew!  She knew a lot of stuff."  She poked him in the chest.  "She even knew about you, you big jerk."

"Me?"

"Yeah, you.  All the way down to the black clothes.  She even supported my theory that you _really need to inject some color into your wardrobe---."_

His hands gripped her upper arms, forcing her to look up at him, the leather strap wound through his fingers as he did so.  "Stop kidding around here, pet," he said, his voice dangerous.  "Complete strangers don't stop tourists in the street and give them some ol' gris gris they just happen to have lyin' about.  Especially ones as potent as this.  Now.  Tell me what she said."

Her own eyes were flashing in tune to his anger.  "She really did talk about your clothes," she protested.  "She said you needed to wrap yourself in red if you wanted to stay safe from the serpent."

"The serpent?  What serpent?"

She shook her head.  "I didn't stick around long enough to ask.  She gave me the gris gris and I took off.  After all her talk about me being covered in you, I was more than just a little wigged."

If he could've paled, he would've.  Buffy saw the slight widening of his eyes at her words, felt his fingers loosen their hold on her arms.  His gaze shifted away from hers, focusing somewhere off to her right, as if suddenly he wasn't even in the hotel room anymore.

_"… I can still see her floating all around you, laughing.  Why?  Why won't you push her away?"_

"Floating," he muttered, his eyes lost in memory.

Buffy stiffened.  "Yeah," she said.  "And laughing.  That's what she said."  Puzzlement shaded her aspect.  "How'd you know that?"

_"...You can't blame the ghoul, Spike.  You're all covered in her.  I look at you…all I see is the Slayer."_

He hadn't had a clue as to what Dru had been talking about.  It didn't make any more sense than any of her other babble, and he'd just chalked it up as an excuse to explain her behavior with the chaos demon.  Now, though, he wasn't so sure.  

For every charlatan in New Orleans, there was someone with just as much real power, and the type of gris gris that Buffy had received from this anonymous woman was clear proof that she definitely belonged in the latter category.  Seers were real; he'd spent enough time with Dru to learn that.  Was it possible that someone had seen the same thing with the Slayer as his ex had with him?

Suddenly, his head started to pound from the confusion of his thoughts, and Spike stepped away, hand going up to grasp the back of his neck as he looked anywhere but at her.  He couldn't think straight with her standing so close, and right now, it seemed imperative that he suss this out.

"Spike?"  Her voice was soft, her own bewilderment driving her forward to follow him.  "What's wrong?"

"Nothin'," he said, but his tone was hollow.  "Just…"  He shook his head.  "Nothin'."  A quick flick of his wrist landed the gris gris in the middle of the bed.  Didn't want to be touching it.  Had to think.  Him and Buffy.  What did all the hocus pocus mean?

Stepping to the bed, Buffy picked up the leather bag, turning it over and over in her fingers as if it could divulge Spike's secrets, tell her why his mood had changed so.  "Do you want me to get rid of it?" she queried hesitantly.  "Would that make…whatever is wrong better?"

"No, no, not necessary," he said.  Spotting his toiletries waiting to be put away was all the inspiration he needed to further the distance between them.  "Y'know," he said, grabbing the black bag, "If you're not too fussed about goin' second, I think I'm goin' to have a wash up.  Think that sewer smell's finally starting to get to me."

He was through the door, closing it behind him, before Buffy could react.  What the hell just happened here? she wondered, staring at the door that now separated them.  He'd been flirting with her only minutes ago---of that, she was certain---but this mood shift, this sense of distraction, had come out of the blue, shattering that.

Well, not completely out of the blue.  It had come with the extraction of the gris gris and the words the woman had spoken to her. 

What was it Spike wasn't telling her…?

To be continued in Chapter 18:  I Don't Wanna Be Kissed by Anyone But You…


	18. I Don't Wanna Be Kissed by Anyone But Yo...

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.  And the chapter titles are courtesy of Miles Davis.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Buffy and Spike have moved to a hotel, where he has seen the gris gris and heard the full story about the woman in the French Quarter for the first time…

*************

In an effort to keep his head as clear as possible, he hadn't even bothered with the hot water.

Ice streamed in fluid sheets down his back as Spike leaned against the wall, his hands braced against the white tile, bleached head bent against the onslaught as if in supplication.  His eyes were closed, and though the spattering of the water echoed hollowly within the confines of the hotel bathroom, he was deaf to it, lost in the voices of yesteryear as they clamored in shrieks and whispers inside his skull.

_"I see what you want.  Something glowing and glistening…"_

_"Why?  Why won't you push her away?..."_

_"I have to find my pleasure, Spike.  You taste like ashes."_

_"You're all covered in her…"_

His own words combined with Dru's, every threat he'd ever made about Buffy, every declaration of enmity and distrust, but it was her voice that cut through, reminding him over and over again how she had seen it first, how the image of Buffy had always been there between them.

It wasn't the idea of him and Buffy that was wracking his emotions with splinters driven into their underbelly.  He had already accepted that something incredible was developing between the pair of them.  What gnawed at his gut was the notion that all of this was beyond his control, that his current incarnation as reluctant Scooby was somehow unavoidable, leaving Spike to twist in the gallows of a cruel fate determined to make his existence a mockery by stealing his freedom of choice.

Choice.  The word left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth, and he shook his head as his hand dropped to slowly turn off the water.  He had no choice, in anything it would seem.  Not in going to Sunnydale in the first place; that had been necessary to save Dru.  He'd needed Angel, and so arriving in the Hellmouth had been inevitable. No choice in when he left, either.  Angelus and his whole Acathla obsession, the wheelchair…he'd left with Dru as soon as he absolutely could.

And now it was looking like the choice to go back to Sunnydale hadn't been his, either.  That someone, somewhere, with a twisted sense of humor, had decided that he and the Slayer were a good idea, and driven him back.

So where did that leave him?  Without even thinking, Spike punched at the wall, watching as a tile cracked and crumbled in white flakes against his skin.  Slayer's goin' to insist we pay for that, he thought irrationally as he stared at the damage.  And look…another choice I'm not goin' to have another say in the matter.  Bugger.

*************

She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the bathroom door, listening to the water on the other side, and felt the confusion begin to curdle inside her stomach.  This hot and cold thing Spike seemed to be cultivating was getting old, really fast, and she was getting just a little tired of being jerked around.  She was trying to make this work, to not be the Bitchy Buffy that seemed to set him off, but every time she thought that she was getting somewhere, he'd do an about-face and change the rules on her.  Didn't he want this?  Half the time, he certainly acted like it.

Or was it just a game to him?  Was he doing all this just to mess with her head?  Because if that was his plan, it sure as hell was working.

He'd seemed so serious about it, though.  Insisting on the chat before anything really physical had happened.  Forcing her to rest when she would've been just as happy with sex until sunrise.  Tending to her wounds.  Making her feel like….

What did he make her feel like?

The answer was swift.

That she could have it all.  That she could be the Slayer, and a woman, and a friend, all with the same person.

And now that person was hiding from her again.

It was only then that she realized the shower had stopped, and unconsciously straightened, waiting expectantly for him to emerge.  When minutes passed and nothing happened, she frowned, rising from her seat to press her ear against the door.  The silence was almost deafening.  Could he have fallen? she wondered, and then heard the dull thud of something hitting the wall.

The door was open, her body inside, before she could think.  "Spike?" she called out, her voice shaded in concern.  "Are you OK?" She'd only taken a single step when she stopped, the blurred outline of his body through the translucent shower curtain confirming for her that he was still there.

The sound of her voice jerked him upright, and though she saw his head turn toward her, gazing at her through the vinyl, he didn't move the curtain aside to clear the view.  "Knocking really is a lost art for you, isn't it, Slayer," Spike said, annoyed.  

"I thought you were taking a shower?" she asked.  "Showers usually require water."

When she took a step toward the bath, her hand outstretched to move aside the curtain, his body stiffened.  "What're you doin'?" he barked.  "Are you in that much of a hurry that I can't have a few moments peace?"

Buffy hesitated.  "I…I just…"  She backed up, feeling the porcelain of the toilet cold against the back of her legs, and sat down on its edge.  "I want to know what's wrong."

"I told you.  Nothin'."

"And you're lying to me."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am---."  He cut himself off, suddenly all too aware of the similarity between this argument and the one he'd had with her in his dream.  That had been about avoiding a topic of conversation he hadn't wanted to address as well.

"It's just a stupid, superstitious charm, Spike," she said quietly.  "It doesn't mean anything---."

"What if I told you Dru said the same thing to me about you?"  He was back in his bowed position, eyes downcast, the rough timbre of his voice undercutting the incisive sound of the shower.  "That a year ago, I was in Brazil with ghostly Buffy's floating about me and laughing.  You wouldn't be spooked?"

"Wha…"  OK, not what she was expecting him to say.  "That's not possible."

"Possible, probable, been there, done that, lost my bloody heart in the process."  He sighed, and the ache of vulnerability in his shoulders tugged at her, even through the curtain.  "Thought it was bad before, gettin' muzzled, leashed into bein' the mutt in your little Scooby gang.  Guess I was wrong about not bein' your lapdog.  I've been one all along.  Just didn't know it.  The rest of the fuckin' world knew it, but me, I was too busy bein' all self-important and speechifying to realize I was bein' played for a sap."

There was no denying the defeatist tone of his words, and a shock of disbelief shot through Buffy's system.  This didn't even sound like the cocky, swaggering Spike she knew.  What the hell was going through his head?  "OK, first of all, enough with the puppy analogies," she said.  "You're _not_ a lapdog, Spike.  You never have been."

His snort of derision was accompanied by a shake of his head.  "That's all I've ever been, pet.  Fought it, of course.  Fought against Angelus.  Fought against the Slayers.  None of it made a damn bit of difference 'cause apparently I've been your bitch all along."

"I thought you were love's bitch," she joked, but it fell flat on deaf ears.

"So, yeah, it's not nothin'," Spike continued as if she'd never spoken.  "It's me feelin' just a tad bit like a puppet on a string here."  She almost didn't catch the next, his voice dropped so low.  "Just wanted to be my own man."

The words sliced into her, and abruptly, Buffy rose to her feet.  "Turn on the water," she said, kicking off her sandals as her hands fell to the hem of her top.

His head turned.  "Why's that?"

"Because having this conversation with you on that side of the plastic is just a little too Laura Palmer for me, so I'm coming in."

There was a moment of hesitation inside the bath.  She didn't let it stop her, pulling her top over her head in a clean jerk, only to immediately drop her hands to her shorts, but before she had the button at the waistband undone, Spike had leaned forward, playing with the taps, and the sounds of the water striking the tiles once again filled the space, the first hints of steam beginning to sizzle from behind the curtain.

Once she was naked, Buffy pulled the far edge of the vinyl aside, stepping gingerly into the tub, noting the alabaster curve of Spike's buttocks as she closed it off behind her.  Her fingers itched to touch him, but the sight of the wrecked tile, the plaster dust settled along the rim of the bath, caught her eye, turning her head automatically to his hands and the blood that dripped from his left.

"If I'd known you were going to be wrecking the place," she said, taking his injured hand in hers, "I would've insisted we stay at one of those no-tell motels instead."

He didn't respond, just leaned back against the wall and watched her as she held the bloodied appendage under the waterstream, rinsing away the scarlet to run in pink rivers down the drain.  Even in his current state of mind, it was hard not to notice the golden contours of her flesh, her nipples hardened into tiny buds, and felt his cock begin to twitch.  Fuck, just what I need, he thought.  Like I don't have enough messin' with my head right now.

"Willow's normally the one who goes all Tony Robbins," Buffy was saying.  "And as for insight, well, that's usually your department."  She paused.  His body was tense, wound as if she were about to start a fight, and she noticed with a quirk of her eyebrow the growing hardness between his legs.  Well, at least I know what's wrong isn't about me, she thought, but shoved it aside, hoping that what she was going to say next wasn't going to further piss him off.  "But I think you're really, really wrong about what all this is about," she finished.

His bark of laughter rang between the tiled walls.  "Like you know so much about it, luv," Spike said.  

"I know more than you think," she replied.  "Just…hear me out here.  You don't have to agree with me---hell, you _never seem to agree with me, so I don't see how this is going to be any different---but…just hear what I have to say, all right?"_

She had surprised Spike by climbing in behind him.  Fuck, she'd surprised him by coming into the bloody bathroom.  He'd seen how she'd been with Soldier Boy---well, as much as his stomach would allow.  All quips and love talk, but nothing of any substance.  Every time he'd heard anything of consequence get brought up, usually by Finn, Buffy had skittered away, hiding behind the mantle of her jokes or using her slaying as an excuse to avoid the issue.

Yet, she'd sought Spike out when he'd tried to run, refused to let him lie about it, and now there she was, all soft and succulent flesh, within his reach if he only let himself touch…

"I'm listening," he said, his voice husky as he fought to quell his rising desire.

"Did I tell you why Riley left me?" she asked softly.

The question took him off-guard.  "Something about…you not committing to the relationship," he replied, his words slow and selective.

"That was part of it.  The biggest part.  He thought…he said I didn't see him.  I couldn't see him.  Because…he wasn't you."  Without letting go of his injured hand, she raised her other one, her fingertips stroking like feathers over the topography of his chest, and felt him shiver beneath her touch.  "Everything kept coming back to you, and I didn't know why.  And it made me furious because I was like, this is _Spike_.  Mortal enemy.  The bane of my existence."

"I'm waiting for this to start havin' a point, pet."

"And I'm getting there, keep your pants on."

Spike chuckled.  "Too late for that."

She smiled.  "When that woman was talking about seeing you around me, it made me think for the first time that maybe Riley was right.  Because everything between us was so…different.  And yet…not.  And I liked it."

He knew she was waiting for some type of response, but he didn't know what to say.  She still had yet to offer a different slant on the coordination of Dru's and the stranger's words, and while the tidbits she was offering ignited the hope within him so that he was beginning to think that maybe it didn't matter, Spike held his tongue, concentrating instead on the pleasure her touch was spreading throughout his system.

"Don't ask me why because I don't know," Buffy continued, "but we work.  You and me.  We shouldn't, you know.  The amount of baggage we're bringing into this makes Romeo and Juliet look like a walk in the park.  Maybe it's the yin and yang of it all.  Or maybe it's that the strength and power you have inside you feels… like home.  I don't know.  I do know that there's no way you're not in control of your life like you think, Spike.  Look at all the choices you've made---."

There was that word again, and he grimaced as soon as she said it, head slamming back to strike against the tile as if that would clear it from his memory.  "Apparently, I've _never had a choice.  Not in you.  Not in Sunnydale.  And certainly not since your government boys stuck this chip in my head," he said, but when his dark gaze looked down at hers, there was no malice in it.  It was resignation.  And that frightened Buffy more than the anger._

"You've had _every_ choice," she argued, and yanked him toward her so that he was standing directly in front of her.  "There were a hundred and one ways for you to get around not being able to kill us.  Believe me, I know.  Giles and I sat down and tried figuring them all out just in case you decided to actually do it."  Her voice softened.  "But you didn't.  Even when you tried…with Adam, it didn't work.  You could've left Sunnydale.  But you didn't.  They were all choices."  She paused, scrambling for something specific to use as an example.  

"Pablo," she finally said.  "There's another one.  You could've killed him.  You didn't.  You _chose_ not to.  _You were the one who decided to do the right thing there, Spike.  Not me.  Not some creepy shop lady.  Not some psycho ex-girlfriend."  The fingers that had been stroking his chest pulled away, and she poked at his sternum.  "You."_

She had a point.  As he stared down at her, all of a sudden, his doubts seemed frivolous.  Just words.  That's all they were.  Just ephemera to disappear with the morning dawn.  It didn't matter how or why he found himself in his current position, standing before the beautiful angel who seemed determined to command his heart, to see past the façade he'd erected.  It only mattered that he was there.  

"Does it really matter what Dru said?" Buffy said.  "Or what that woman told me?  I mean, yeah, in the world of the freaky and the deaky, it definitely rates an honorable mention, but…what matters is what we do with it, right?  _We_ choose.  Like I'm choosing…to be here with you."

Reaching up, she brushed her lips over his in the faintest of kisses, and felt him shudder at the contact.  "Nothing for you to be spooked over, Spike," she breathed against his mouth.  

His lips quirked.  "Sometimes, you bloody amaze me, Summers," he said, eyes searching the contours of her face.

"So…are we good now?  Is everything…better?"

"Everything's right as rain."  And it was.  She wanted this---_them_---to work.  She kept proving that to him over and over again.  She was hitting the occasional pothole; hell, just that morning, she'd slammed right into the Grand Canyon of potholes with that dismissal of his help, but it didn't keep her from plugging along.  And then the admission earlier, about the possibility of this being more than just the fling either had suspected it might be in the beginning…

Maybe the coincidence of the same words just meant they were meant to be, should they decide to take the chance.  That certainly seemed to be how the Slayer was taking them.

Yeah.  Right as rain.

Buffy smiled.  "You know," she said, lifting her arms so that her wrists rested on his shoulders, her fingers playing with his wet curls at the back of his neck, "I think that's the first time I've averted an apocalypse without having to beat something up.  Or die first.  I think I'm kind of proud of myself."

She was sliding against him then, wetting her skin with the expanse of his, feeling his arousal brushing against her pelvis.  Though the water was warm before she got in, the heat of that was nothing compared to the fire that raged beneath her skin.  He could smell her growing desire even through the sweat and antiseptic, and Spike's fingers dug into her hips, urging her closer.  When the moan escaped her lips, he leaned down to catch it with his mouth, swallowing it down as she offered her tongue, allowed his entrance.

Her muscles sang from the pressure of his touch against her, responding with an ardent hunger that begged for release.  Her hand dropped, sliding between them, and she felt the growl within his chest reverberate through her skin as her fingers wrapped around the length of his cock.

"I think our would-be interrupter is currently stuck in a piano somewhere," Buffy said against his cheek.  "What do you think of finishing those lessons?"  Tiny teeth nipped at his neck.  "I can be a _very good student."_

"Thought you'd never ask," Spike replied.  The blue of his irises had been devoured by black, his lids half-drooping as he bent in for another kiss.  

A nibble really, she thought, as his teeth caught her bottom lip and tugged, sucking at the full flesh as his arm snaked around her waist.  Her feet left the bottom of the bath, and Buffy instinctively wrapped her legs around his hips, pressing herself against him, sliding in minuscule sweeps up and down his length.  She gasped, the breath catching in her lungs to sear her chest with tiny flaming darts, and her nails dug into the smooth skin of his back, anchoring herself to him, fearful that letting go would…

"…not goin' to drop you," Spike murmured, and tightened his grip, lapping at the salt of her skin as the steam drew the water from her flesh.  "Never lettin' you go."

The quivering within her threatened to overpower Buffy's control and she pulled just enough away to look into his eyes.  Need, and desire, and something she couldn't quite put her finger on, looked back at her, and for a moment, the only rational thought she seemed to be able to command was that she'd never wanted anything more before in her life.  

Her hips had stilled, his arousal nestled between their bodies.  "Should we start with the scales then?" she asked breathlessly.  A hint of confusion worried his brow.  "You know, the basics," she added with a small smile.

She didn't wait for a response.  Without losing the suction that the water was creating between their torsos, Buffy angled her hips just enough so that his erection was poised at her entrance, and with one swift movement, lowered herself back down again, burying him inside her.

They both gasped, he from the tight muscles now pulling him home, she from the fullness that now permeated her flesh.  Neither moved, each unwilling to break the spell the single motion had woven around them, and instead Spike's right hand swept over the swell of her lower lip.  "You didn't have to, pet," he said softly.

"No," she agreed.  "I _chose to."  With a lethargic grace, Buffy slid up the length, her eyes never leaving his.  "Up the scale," she said, then lowered herself back into her original position.  "And back down again."_

He couldn't help but smile as she repeated the actions, each stroke a deliberate caress.  "My kind of music," he drawled as his hips began to join with hers.

She pretended to pout.  "Not music.  Scales.  Music comes later.  That's what you said."

"This is music, too," he whispered against her cheek.  "Just simpler.  What comes later is the whole bloody concerto."

There were no more words as their lips met, their bodies arching in rhythm that failed to surprise either of them.  Each had known how this was going to be.  It had begun with their fights, instincts responding to instincts, blow matching for blow.  It made sense to both of them that it would continue in their sex, need being drawn to need, cadence rivaling cadence.  All doubt about the rightness of it was driven from their minds; any question about choices was squelched in the face of their desire.

All either of them could think about was how alive it made both of them feel.

Spike felt her orgasm come first, and spurred it onward by dropping his mouth to the top of her breast, sliding down to catch her nipple in his teeth as her body arched away from him.

Slick, and hot, and pulsing with life, she crashed over the precipice of her orgasm, coming with a force that was coupled in fire, nails raking at his arms as she ground herself against him.

Her heart went wild then, her pulse drumming into him as he slammed himself into her, and Spike came with a roar that beat against their eardrums, yanking her upward to press her against him, driving his mouth to hers to try and stave away the shudders that threatened to buckle his knees.

More, more, more, he heard a little voice chanting inside his head, and he tightened his grip around her waist, holding her closer, suddenly frightened that she would disappear like any one of the dream Buffy's he'd known prior to coming to New Orleans, desperate to hold onto the magic of it---of her---for as long as possible.

When she broke from the kiss, she rubbed her cheek along his, a tiny sigh of contentment tickling across his ear.  "Gotta love those scales," she said with a small laugh.

"You know what they say," Spike replied, and pulled back so that she could see the wicked glint in his eye, the smirk twisting his lips.  "Practice makes perfect."

*************

"You're going with me?"  Stella stared at the blonde vampire in surprise, careful not to move and jar the cracked ribs that still sang in pain from her arrival.

Iris rolled her eyes.  "Have you not been paying _any_ attention to what I've been telling you?" she said.  She was lounging on the couch in her sitting room at Midnight, the black singer seated in a chair opposite.  "Spike and his little Slayer found out about Sira Sommeil.  You need me for protection if you want your little vodou shindig to go off without a hitch."

She didn't like it, but in her weakened state, Stella knew that she didn't really have much choice in the matter.  Iris was too powerful, with too much knowledge about her powers for her to spring any kind of trick on her.  Though she might not like the idea, perhaps the vampire had a point.  Her presence could prevent these other two she kept talking about from interfering, allowing the awakening to occur without fault.  Once it was over, it wouldn't make a difference what Iris wanted from the bargain.

Willow would be too powerful for her to stop.

To be continued in Chapter 19: Stella by Starlight…


	19. Stella by Starlight

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.  And the chapter titles are courtesy of Miles Davis.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Iris has told Stella she will be accompanying her to the swamps, Giles and the Scoobies are on their way to New Orleans, and Buffy and Spike have had a talk about his insecurities about being his own man, culminating in their making love for the first time…

*************

Lounging against the doorjamb, the smoke from his cigarette curling in wispy flumes to go drifting out into the dusky sky, Spike watched as Buffy carefully tucked her stake into the waistband of her leather pants, her sinewy body already glistening from a slight sheen of sweat as the New Orleans night permeated the cooler air of the hotel room.  They had been mostly silent for the better part of the last hour, waking from their nap curled in each other's arms, setting to the task of preparing for what lie ahead with that grim determination of hers he'd always admired, sneaking glances at the other out of the corner of their eyes when they thought the other wasn't looking.  Nothing had been said about what had happened in the shower.  It was as if she had spent her weekly quota of intuition, and now lacked the words for normal conversation.

He didn't mind.  The fact that she'd done what she had, come to him and sought within her limited means to help him---and did so tremendously, in spite of her relative lack of expertise---was all Spike needed to cling to, letting their bodies sing in the ensuing revelry, relishing the delicate notes that were beginning to bind them together, even after they adjourned to the bed.  

She was game for another go, climbing on top of him, her hair hanging in wet strands around her shoulders as her hands skated over his chest, and while Spike's body had been more than willing, his heart was surprisingly not, his need to just hold her overwhelming his desire.  Still, he had been unable to say no to the kisses she had rained across his jaw, lips joining hers to tangle in languid grace, tugging her to the side to lay next to him.  The combined heat of her body and the shower turned his muscles into molasses, and he soon tore himself away her mouth, curling her luscious form into the crook of his arm, spending the next ten minutes letting his fingers memorize her face, feathering over her brows, following the route of the tiny bend in her nose, savoring the never-restive muscles that hid beneath her skin.

Each stroke had audibly slowed her heartbeat, until Buffy's eyes fluttered closed, a tiny sigh escaping her lips.  "This is nice," she'd murmured.

His kiss across her lids had been tickled by the ends of her lashes.  "Would you be fussed if we slept for a bit?" he'd asked, hesitant to make the request, as if by doing so it would destroy the delicate understanding that had settled between the two.  "Not that I'm not interested in more, it's just…"  His eyes were dark, gazing at her as she lifted her head, her pointed chin boring into the muscle of his chest.  "…I want a bit to enjoy where we've been."  A tender brush lifted a damp tendril from her cheek.  "Got all the time in the world for the other, but Red needs us to be able to storm the so-called castle, not crumble to our knees because our bloody legs don't work anymore."

She'd slapped at him playfully.  "What happened to vampire constitutions?" she said.  "Don't tell me you fold after just two times around?"

"Wasn't talking about me.  Was talking about you."

She'd giggled, an angelic sound that made his own lips quirk, and burrowed back into him, eyes drifting back shut to settle into a slumber that had quickly overtaken him as well.  It had only been his sense of encroaching sunset that had wakened them, still tangled together, and they had set about preparing for their evening's attack.

Buffy stopped in her preparations and surveyed the room.  "You've got the crossbow in the car, right?"

Spike exhaled, directing the smoke outside.  "Crossbow, a shitload of stakes, a mess of knives.  Trust me.  We're fully stocked and loaded to go."

"OK then.  Let's do this."

His hand lifted as she began to march toward him.  "You're forgettin' something."

"And just ten seconds ago you said we were ready."

Spike gestured abstractly toward the nightstand.  "I want you to wear it."  He was referring to the gris gris that she'd placed there before going into the bathroom, and her eyes followed his to look at it sitting in wait.

"No offense, but I'm trying to cultivate a death to all things evil look here.  You'd think that if that shop lady knew enough to expect me, she'd at least give me something that would coordinate with most of my outfits."

He didn't even smile at her small joke.  "Humor me," he said.  His eyes were serious as she turned back to look at him.  "That charm's the real deal.  Now, I'm not even goin' to begin to try and understand how or why that vodou bird had it ready for you, but the fact remains, she did.  And it's an asset, whether you realize it or not.  Take it."

The doubt still lingered behind her aspect, and Buffy frowned.  "Can it hurt me?" she asked.

He shook his head.  "No.  That's the thing.  That's potent stuff there, designed for protecting and all.  You wear it, it'll protect you from something, but without bein' able to talk to this bird, I can't tell you exactly from what."  He shrugged.  "It's not like you have anything to lose by takin' it along.  And if it works, then all the better, right?"

When he saw her shrug, moving without hesitation to reach with a slim hand to pick up the leather strap, a piece that had been floating in oblivion inside Spike seemed to settle into place, as if rooted there by the simple acceptance of his request, seeping and spreading to burn his flesh from the inside out.  She trusted him.  One simple question on her part, and she had done an about-face on her decision to take him at his word.  Had it really been only that morning she had been questioning his desires to seek out additional help?  How was it possible for her to have come around so quickly?

He knew the answer to that even as he thought the query.  He had dropped the act.  In the face of his own insecurity, Spike had opened the door for her to see inside the dead space that should have housed his soul, and she hadn't been frightened by what she'd seen.  In fact, she had pulled him from it, and demanded he see past the dark, acknowledge the truth for what it was, force him to accept his own strengths even if he didn't see them as such.  He didn't know why.  Even sleeping with her in his arms had done nothing to staunch the flow of questions that bled from his mind.

But it didn't matter.  She trusted him now.  He wasn't going to abuse that.

"Ready to kick Iris' ass?" he asked as she walked to the doorway.

Her grin was wide.  "As soon as we get Willow to safety, that skanky ho's butt is mine," she retorted.  She held up a warning finger in tease.  "Remember.  Hands off.  I've got a score to settle with her."

Spike grinned as she brushed past him and headed to the car, watching the casual sway of her hips as he contemplated the night's potential.  Oh yeah, he thought.  Go in, kill some nasties, get Red out, and then come home and work off some of that extra energy the Slayer was sure to have pent up.  In her current state, he didn't doubt she would do whatever she set her mind to, and he'd be there to follow her, every step of the way.  What could possibly go wrong?

*************

So far, she wasn't impressed.  Watching the tableau play out before her made Iris' lip curl in disdain, and it was all she could not to whirl on her proverbial high heel and get out of the bog that was ruining her favorite boots.  Still, the potential for it to work was still there, and until she was certain that failure was inevitable, the vampire was going to see it through, even if the entire debacle reeked of amateurishness.  It wasn't as if she had anything else to do that night.

Stella had balked at the coterie of vampires Iris had insisted escort them to Sira Sommeil, even though she was more than aware of the various teams that been placed around the perimeter of the swamp in an attempt to keep Spike and the Slayer from interrupting.  Though they were still present, they were hanging back amidst the overgrown trees, lost in the murky shadows as they watched the spectacle unfold.  The singer was convinced they would prove disruptive to the magics she was going to have to invoke, and though Iris didn't agree, she acquiesced on this one point, fearful that her persistent intervention might actually curtail the proceedings.

And so there they were, the three so determined to bring Sira back into the world, or rather, the two, with the third waiting in the wings to be called.  Iris' gaze settled on the redhead stretched out on the blanket on the ground, nostrils flaring as the fresh scent of the brand upon her wrist drifted from her prone position.

She had been unconscious when they had arrived, the young man just finishing whatever preparations had been necessary for the ritual.  She was younger than the other two, deceptively fragile, but the power rolled off her in waves, and it was that taste that prompted Iris to wait this out, to see for herself whether the pair would be able to raise the memories from her soul.  They needed the knowledge of the other in order to summon Sira; it would be fascinating to see how it would manifest itself in the thin redhead's frame.

Iris' lips twitched as she watched Stella light the fire for the sacrifice, the knife she held in her hands capturing the stray beams of moonlight that filtered through the branches to mingle with the scarlet licks of the flames.  The night was the greatest of equalizers, casting each of them in an orange pallor that united them within their task.  The tang of the latent impulses buried within the mire of both the land and the souls at hand made the vampire's mouth water, her demon within emerging of its own volition to witness the calling of the djab.

It hungered for what was to come.

The power.  The destruction.  The death.

And as the words tumbled from Stella's lips, rolling cadences beckoning to the devil she worshiped, Iris believed for the first time that it would truly happen…

…and smiled.

*************

They had to abandon the Desoto earlier than she wanted, but eyeing the miasma of the New Orleans outskirts, Buffy knew there was no way the car was going to make it inside.  So they were left trudging through the thick underbrush, the weight of weapons on their backs, the flashlights they'd brought along doing little but illuminate just the few feet directly in front of them.  

Neither spoke, but the night was far from silent.  Distant splashing from creatures she didn't even want to consider was interspersed with the occasional croak from a frog, the near constant buzzing of various insects in the air underlying all of it to hum along their skin.

She let Spike take the lead, allowing his predatory nature and his knowledge of the area to guide them toward their final destination.  Though he was grateful for her unquestioning acknowledgment of his abilities, the vamp wasn't exactly thrilled by the circumstances in which it happened.  Walking through the mud was a bitch, he thought with a grimace.  His step was weighted by the cumbersome nature of his boots, making his normal lithesome grace an awkward gait where he had to consciously extract his foot from the mire before setting it back down again, feeling it sink for that fraction before having to lift again.  It was perhaps the only detraction of their excursion, though; he was still floating high on the revelations from the hotel room to really be fussed about a little sludge.

They both should've been paying more attention.

The first assault came through the air, a volley of arrows whistling from the dark to send Buffy diving forward even as the first went soaring over her head.  Spike threw himself sideways, but the wrench of his feet within the morass slowed his dodge, and he hissed in pain as one of the arrows embedded itself in his thigh.  He landed with an audible squish, face screwing up in pain as he automatically reached down to yank the shaft from his flesh, his eyes glittering in gold as they searched the darkness for their attackers.

"They were ready for interruptions," Buffy commented from somewhere to his right.

"They were ready for _us_," Spike growled, the arrow snapping between his fingers.  He was suddenly certain that leaving Pablo to live was probably his stupidest decision ever.  It was the only reason to explain such weaponry.  Someone wanted to protect Sira Sommeil from a vampire's approach.  From _him_.  If he wasn't so pissed about getting hit in the first place, Spike just might've bristled in pride that Iris feared him enough to try and keep him away.

"How far away are we?" she asked.

"We're on the edges now," he replied.  Out of the corner of her eye, Buffy saw him nod ahead of them, his bleached head glowing in the moonlight.  "The center's through those trees, about two hundred yards.  Then there's a few more hundred yards on the other side.  Stella and her crew could be anywhere in there."

"Well, since all the sharp pointy things are coming from that direction, I'm thinking that's what they're trying to keep us from."  The smell of blood drifted to her nose, and she watched as he lifted himself to a crouching position.  His black clothing was doing well to hide most of his form from whoever was attacking them, but his hair was a beacon in the inky night, catching what little light there was to diffract and scatter, illuminating their position for anyone to see.

"Spike," she hissed.  "Cover your head or something.  You might as well be Rudolph in the middle of a snowstorm for as much good you're doing at blending in."

With a quick yank, he pulled his jacket over his head, but the weight of the mud clinging to its hem made it awkward, causing him to flap like a wounded bird as he hurried to her side.

The second barrage followed only seconds later, and instinctively, Spike threw himself over Buffy, covering the pair of them with his duster while pressing them into the mud.  He was relieved that none of them found their targets this time, and when he felt the Slayer's muscles tense beneath him, he knew automatically that she was going to make a run for it.

Even in daylight, it would've been difficult to follow them as they sped across the mire, two dark blurs amidst the trees battling against the ground that fought to slow them down, stopping only when they reached the nearest copse.  She wasn't even panting as she pressed herself into the bark, reaching out with her Slayer senses as her hand curled around her stake.

"That way," she whispered, directing Spike toward the break amidst the demons.  Better to get through them than waste time by killing them, she'd decided, and felt her feet fly over the surface in a blur.

Spike was the first to go down when they resorted to a ground assault, four of the sentries attacking from different directions to tangle in a flurry of snarls and fangs.  Buffy was left facing off with two, and though the question as to why they considered Spike the greater threat flickered across her mind, she didn't dwell on it, focusing instead on the dispatching of her assailants.

A roundhouse kick sent the first flying into a nearby tree, and she couldn't help her small smile when a chance encounter with a well-placed branch turned him into a smattering of dust.  Save the earth, she thought.  Because she'll sure as hell save you in a pinch.

The second was a little more wily, but with two powerful punches, the Slayer had him down on the ground, her stake plunging into its chest.  She had turned to help Spike before the dust could settle, though, a predator's gaze assessing the four---no, make that two, she thought with a strange sense of pride---that were attacking the chipped vampire.  

The smaller of the two had grabbed the hem of Spike's coat, using it to keep him off-balance while his bigger partner tried to get close enough to use the nasty-looking dagger in his hand.  It was that annoying gnat that Buffy chose to concentrate on.  

Using what leverage she could gain on the slippery ground, the Slayer vaulted herself forward, gauging a pivot she could see poised within Spike's body so that she connected with Shorty just as the trio landed to the ground under a towering cypress tree.  A quick jerk freed him from the leather, and the pair fell with a sticky spludge into the mire.

Buffy grimaced.  "Do all of you smell this bad down here, rodent breath?" she said, fending off his bared fangs with a quick punch.  "Or is it something in the local blood supply that gets under your skin?"  Her feet came up to plant themselves in his chest, propelling him off of her and against a nearby tree, dazing him just enough for her to leap up and finish him off.

There would be more to come, she thought turning to see Spike dance away from the remaining vamp.  Better to get this over with and get in there before it gets worse.

The knife had connected more than once with the blond's body; she could see that once he was free from the fray.  Blood dripped from a cut high on his brow, leaving scarlet trails down the side of his face, while another stab at his already wounded leg was forcing him to favor his right foot as he moved around.  A wild grin still creased his face, though, and Buffy could see that Spike was enjoying himself immensely in spite of his obvious pain.

A vicious kick to his attacker's midsection left Spike the only one of the pair standing, and with a quick glance of glee at the Slayer, he pounced, scooping a broken branch from the ground to drive it into the vampire's chest.  He didn't even wait for him to disintegrate.  He just jumped to his feet and strode over to Buffy, scooping her roughly against the smooth lines of his hard body as his mouth descended to hers in a fevered kiss.

For the moments their tongues battled, the adrenaline driving their bodies closer, hands clawing at the clothes that shielded them from immediate gratification, Buffy drowned in the succulent taste of Spike's mouth, the ache of ice refusing to melt beneath her touch kindling the desire for more.  She couldn't get close enough, each layer between them determined to shred what little resolve she had, and it wasn't until she felt the sticky drip of his blood on her hand that she tore herself away from the caress.

"We better hurry," she said, her breath ragged.

His dark gaze swept over her and it didn't matter that she still wore all her clothes; Buffy felt with every indolent inch that he was drinking in the taste of her bare skin.  "Oh, there won't be any hurryin' if I have a say in the matter," he drawled, deliberately misinterpreting her meaning.  "It'll be slow, and scorching, and you're goin' to be screaming by the time I'm done with you, pet."

Her mouth opened to respond, but the words froze in her throat as a shrill screech pierced the swamp air.  Buffy whirled to look behind her.  "Willow."

*************

She'd been wrong, so deliciously wrong, and her skin crawled in syncopation with a thousand millipedes as Iris watched the redhead writhe from her position on the ground.  The young man---Freddie, she'd heard Stella call him---knelt beside the young Willow, one hand pressed to her forehead, the other clawed into her stomach, but even with the strength of the djab that now possessed him, he was finding it difficult to contain her thrashing, her soft flesh tearing and scraping along the ground, the blanket long since bunched to a tattered rag that lay crumpled under her legs.

Summoning the djab that inhabited Sira Sommeil had been straightforward, and it had arrived with little fanfare, driving Freddie to his feet in an awkward dance as Stella offered the sacrifice up to him.  Iris had felt her own mouth water as the young man bit into the still beating heart of the goat that had been sacrificed, the blood running down his chin, staining the t-shirt that clung to his thin frame.   She didn't know the particulars of this particular djab, not his name nor his special skills, but that was hardly unusual.  There were many around New Orleans, and without the proper mambo to call them, they could lie dormant for decades.

Still, living in the very swamp where the demon Sira had been driven so long ago, it made sense that those who had called him the last time would seek out the means to do it again, searching for the power that had been denied them in their previous incarnation.  

Iris had learned of their search for the third soul when the singer had summoned this djab a few months previous, and followed her quest from afar as the information they'd gleaned from the spirit's ramblings led them to California.  They needed the other to learn the location of the staff, an artifact the vampire had every intention of taking control of once it was discovered; her only wish was that Spike and his Slayer girlfriend had not gotten involved in the first place.  That was a kink for which she had not prepared.  Still, the warning from Pablo had been fortuitous, and hopefully, Iris had placed enough of her guards to ward them away until the knowledge about the staff was brought forth.

A shrill scream erupted from the redhead's throat as her back arched impossibly away from the ground.  It held there, frozen, the night ringing from the pain in her voice, and Freddie fell back, energy spent as whatever had been housed within him vanished as cleanly as it came.  

Unconsciously, Iris took a step closer, the anticipation scraping her flesh raw as her eyes glittered in the darkness.  Before she could near further, though, the erratic pulse of the redhead stopped, the body collapsed, and there it remained in limbo for a full thirty seconds as the pair just stared down at her.

"What happened?" Freddie breathed.

"I don't know," Stella replied.

"She can't be dead…can she?" he asked.

Anger roiled in Iris' throat, frustration that the entire exercise had been a waste, that these dilettantes had ruined the best chance at waking Sira from his swampy repose, when the sudden thumping of Willow's heart joined in with the tattoo of the others in the clearing.  She saw her gulp for air, her eyes shooting open to stare up into the sky, and heard the others gasp in surprise, rocking back and away from the young woman as she bolted upright.

Freddie was the first to react.  "Willow?" he asked tentatively.

There was a pause, and Iris saw the slow tilt of the witch's head, as if she were listening to some far-off tune.  Her smile when it came was deliciously malevolent, teeth gleaming otherworldly white in the moonlight, and the vampire felt an odd kinship with her as she looked up to gaze in hunger at the stars in the night sky.  

"Willow's gone," she heard the young woman say as she rose in a single liquid motion to her feet, a dance of sensual grace and fire contained within her petite musculature.

There was no mistaking the sudden acceleration of Stella's pulse as she and Freddie also stood.  A cautious hand reached out, came to rest on the redhead's shoulder.  "Sandrine…?" she queried, her voice almost too faint for even Iris to hear.

The one who had been called forth by the djab, who know lived within the body of a former Willow Rosenberg, turned her seductive smile upon the others beside her.  "It is _so_ good to be home," she drawled…

To be continued in Chapter 20: Yesternow…


	20. Yesternow

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.  And the chapter titles are courtesy of Miles Davis.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Buffy and Spike have arrived at Sira Sommeil, while Stella and Freddie have summoned a djab to perform some type of spell on an unsuspecting Willow…

*************

Pain.

Like someone had hooked a white-hot claw into her chest and yanked it downwards, splitting her open and leaving her exposed before dragging its talons back up into her throat.

Screaming had been reflex.

All Willow had wanted was for it to stop, the fleeting question---_I wonder if this is how Buffy feels when she gets hurt_---the only statement approaching rational thought flickering through her mind.

When it came, its cessation was welcomed, respite offering a moment's peace before she felt herself being hurtled---_was that real?  Was her body actually moving?_---through an ebony void, a cacophony of voices hammering against her ears.  Men, women, children…some whispering, others speaking as if nothing was wrong, the occasional scream of terror…

…and one, louder than the rest, laughing in madness as it grew in volume until it was the only thing Willow could hear.  Female, with a shivery drawl that made her skin feel sticky, hers and yet…not hers.

Its words when it spoke made the pain seem like ashes compared to the sense of dread that now suffused the witch's being.

_"Goodbye, little girl…"_

She could see then, but when she tried to move her body, it refused her wishes, acting out of synch with her thoughts, as if someone else was pulling its strings.  Horrified, Willow watched the world tilt as she stood up, looked to the heavens before turning her gaze to her companions.  Freddie, and Stella, and some blonde vampire that gave Armani a really bad name.

She heard her voice then, the words _Willow's gone_ eliciting a silent scream of denial from her throat.

_I'm not gone!_ she wanted them to hear.  _I'm right here!_  

But they couldn't hear.  Nobody could.  Not even whoever it was…

…And she realized then that she could sense the other's thoughts, remember the other's memories, and knew then just what this whole kidnapping thing had been about.

_Holy Hecate_, she thought, and felt the void around her swirl in panic as what remained of her existence reacted to the truth.  _They're crazy.  She's crazy.  This can't be…Buffy.  Need Buffy.  Buffy will fix this.  She'll stop this Sandrine.  She has to._

*************

Her gaze never wavered as Iris stepped into the circle Stella had created, her pale features cast in orange from the flicker of the dying flames.  "Well, I certainly didn't expect a welcoming party of more than two," Sandrine said.  Green eyes swept over the vampire's form in mild contempt.  "Are we consorting with vampires now?  Please tell that's not the latest and greatest trend."

"This is---," Stella started.

"Iris," the vamp cut in, her voice cold.  "The reason you're safely here in the first place, so it would probably suit your best interests to be just a tad nicer to me, little girl."

Sandrine grimaced.  "I don't have to be nice to anybody," she said.  "Especially a second-class mongrel such as yourself with the fashion sense of a…"  She stopped, eyes focusing off to the side as if she were listening to some unheard voice.  "…Pretty Woman wannabe?" she finished with a curious question.  Her scowl faded into a small smile.  "Interesting.  I have her memories, her…vernacular, her…"  The grin widened as her gaze dropped to her hands, watching them flex and turn in the moonlight.  "…power, as well as my own.  I'm me, and more.  Oh, I think this is going to be fun."

The crashing through the trees captured their attention, and four heads swiveled to see the two blonds appear in the distance, mud-spattered and bedraggled.  "Buffy," Sandrine murmured, recognition springing from the font of Willow's memories in spite of the changes in the Slayer's appearance.

"Spike," Iris hissed, her eyes glowing golden in the dark.

The new arrivals stopped, and across the distance, the group could see the confusion clouding Buffy's eyes as her gaze flickered over them.  "Willow?" she asked tentatively.  "Are you all right?  They haven't hurt you, have they?"

She doesn't know, Sandrine thought and was about to smile in victory when more images from the redhead's past flooded into her head.  The Slayer…dangerous, and powerful, and willing to do anything to protect those she loved…must be stopped.  She would do everything she could to prevent Sira's rise, and that just…wouldn't…do.

The smile she affected was saccharine sweet, and she took a small step toward the pair.  "I'm fine, Buffy, really," she said, and raised her hands as if in surrender.

Nobody expected the golden blast of magic to explode from the redhead's palms, flying across the space to slam into the chest of the Slayer.  They were even more surprised when the energy bounced away, deflected by some invisible source, scattering like a million fireflies into the night.

"Well, that didn't work out like I thought," Sandrine said with a scowl.

"Go for _him_, you idiot," Iris hissed.  "_He's_ the threat here."

"Spike?"  She turned with widened eyes to stare at the female vamp.  "You're kidding, right?  He's harmless.  Well, to me at least.  As long as he has that chip in his head, he can't lay a finger on me."

Iris closed the distance between them and glared down at the smaller woman.  "I don't know anything about a chip," she said tightly, "but I do know that if you can't touch the Slayer with your magic, you can still get to her by going for her boyfriend."

That was information she didn't have, and for the first time, Sandrine looked at the demon with a speculative interest.  A long moment passed, and she finally shrugged.  "Let's just see," she said, and turned back around.

*************

Seeing her best friend standing there had sent a flood of relief throughout Buffy's body as she skittered to a halt inside the clearing.  That reprieve, however, was quickly dispelled when the beam of Spike's flashlight revealed the casual way Willow was standing amidst the group, as if there was nothing wrong in spite of the numerous scrapes and scratches that scarred her exposed flesh.

"Willow?" she asked, her voice tentative.  She felt Spike's hand curl around her elbow, holding her back from advancing further.  "Are you all right?  They haven't hurt you, have they?"

"That's not Red," Spike murmured, only loud enough for her to hear.  He was trying to pull her away, but she held firm, knowing he couldn't move her without fear of his chip getting set off.

"I'm fine, Buffy, really," Willow said.  It sounded like her, it looked like her, and why was she raising her hands like that?

The magic that erupted from the redhead's palms startled Spike into tugging harder than he'd meant, setting off a twinge inside his head that he chose to ignore as the threat hurtled toward Buffy at breakneck speed.  His instinct to throw her aside never had a chance to act, however, as the magic crashed into the power of the charm that hung around her neck, dissipating in a shower of sparks to the ground around them.

Buffy looked down at the pouch in wonder, slim fingers stroking the leather.  "Well, good job, gris gris," she commented.  Her gaze lifted to Spike's curious one.  "Guess we know why she wanted me to have it now, huh?"  She didn't give him a chance to respond, sliding her eyes back to look at the group around the fire, as the realization of what had just happened dawned on her.  Willow had attacked her, except, she wouldn't…  "If that's not Willow," Buffy murmured, "then who is it?"

"Someone with some serious mojo," he replied grimly.  A snap from his right turned his head, his flashlight following suit, and his eyes glittered as he caught the skulking shadows of a set of vampires trying to approach.  "We've got more company," he said.

Buffy's gaze followed the light, her hand tightening around her stake.  "Somehow, I'm feeling like monkey in the middle here," she said.  "Who should we---?"

Her question was cut off with a choked scream as she saw the magic flare brightly in the side of Spike's face, a brilliant flame erupting along his skin as it caught hold, sweeping down his neck and onto his chest faster than she could blink.  There was no time for words.  Instinctively, Buffy threw herself at him, tackling him to the ground and using their rolling to help tamp the flames that were scorching his flesh.  Her hands beat at the fire that the ground didn't reach, her stomach in her throat as fear that she would be too late and he'd burst into a big pile of dust beneath her spurred her to go even faster.

Distantly, she became aware of giggling from the other side of the clearing, and shot a dirty look over her shoulder to see Willow laughing in glee.  "Now that's more like it," she heard the witch say.

"Who the hell are you?" Buffy snapped at her, the anger sharpening her words to a dangerous level that caused even the approaching vampires to hesitate.  "And just what do you think you're doing?"

Willow's hands were tracing discreet patterns in the air, and the smile she offered the Slayer glowed in menace.  "My name's Sandrine," she said lightly, "and I'm just getting started."  Her hands came together then, a sharp clap piercing the air, and in a flash, she and the others around the fire had disappeared.

The Slayer didn't have any time to contemplate the sudden absence of the quartet as the vampires that had been hanging back suddenly descended.  Five of them, and she was on her feet, a whirl of leather and lace as her leg swung around, sending two of them flying away, while a lithe twist of her torso landed her behind two others, grabbing their heads and slamming them together, not even waiting for them to crumple unconscious to the ground before turning to the last.  

He approached with a clumsy gait, awkwardly lunging at her.  She sidestepped him easily, driving her stake into his back, and settled back to the pair on the ground.  They dusted just as quickly.  When she'd straightened, ready to go after the two she'd kicked, Buffy caught only the flash of their backs as they scurried away into the depths of the swamp, the absence of their leader and the death of their comrades stripping them of their bravado in the face of the Slayer.

Instantly, she was back at Spike's side, crouching in the mud as she rolled him gently onto his back.  The flashlight had been smashed when she'd been trying to extinguish the magical fire, but she could still see the marks it left behind by the faint light of the moon trickling through the trees.  The left side of the vampire's face was an oozing scarlet mess that made her heart ache in sympathy, his skin abnormally hot, while half of his shirt was seared away, the burns trailing crimson rivers down his neck and onto his chest, shallow channels that seeped in blood.

Hot tears prickled Buffy's eyes, but she furiously blinked them back, forcing herself to concentrate on the practical matter at hand.  He was unconscious, which was probably a good thing because the pain from the burns was most likely enormous.  But unconscious meant unable to move on his own, which left her no other alternative but to try and carry him back to the car.

She grimaced.  Crap.  The car.  No way was he going to be able to drive like this.  Could she remember how to get back to town on her own?  She wasn't entirely sure.  For that matter, she wasn't sure she'd be able to manage being behind the steering wheel of the Desoto in the first place without sending it crashing into the nearest immovable object.  

"Spike," she said softly, placing her hand on his good shoulder and nudging him gently.

No response.

"Spike," she said a little louder, her shake a little firmer, but still, the vampire never even stirred.

"Damn it," Buffy muttered.  Rising to her feet, her gaze scanned the swampy area, assessing the demon situation just to be safe.  Nothing going off on the Slayer radar, not funny neck tingles, no hair standing on end on her arms.  The only thing that was running rampant through her body now was all the bells and whistles screaming inside her head about Spike.

The panic that had exploded across her nerves was only now receding, but it was the recognition of how stricken she'd gotten that rattled Buffy more than anything else.  How could she have done it?  How could Willow have attacked them like that?  And where the hell had she gotten such power behind her magic?

Except it wasn't Willow.  If she'd had any doubts of Spike's assessment before her little magic show, they were now completely gone.  She had called herself Sandrine, and _Sandrine _was the one who had attacked them.  No way could gentle Willow have been so vicious.  She was the one who'd stopped Spike from trying to kill himself before he realized he could still hurt demons.  She was the one who baked chocolate chip cookies to make everyone feel better.  It just wasn't in her to turn so viciously against her friends.  Not the Willow Buffy knew.

But who this Sandrine was left a huge question to be answered, an answer she wasn't going to get standing in the middle of a stinky swamp with a bleeding, unconscious vampire at her feet.

As carefully as she could manage, Buffy hoisted Spike up and over her shoulder, feeling the blood from his various wounds---the burns, the puncture in his thigh---seep into her clothing, sticking the fragile fabric of her top to her skin.  Job number one was to successfully find her way back to the car without his help.  She'd figure out where to take it from there once she found it.

*************

She had teleported them to a spot inside the French Quarter, and smiled instantly as a rash of young men hurried past them, their hands in various pockets, undeniable swaggers announcing their sexuality for anyone caring to pay attention.  Raucous laughter poured from the club behind Sandrine, and she twisted in her place on the sidewalk, green gaze hungrily surveying the thriving populace.

"Looks like my town has grown up a bit while I've been gone," she purred in delight.  A pair of twenty-something lovebirds stumbled drunkenly through the exit, lurching awkwardly against her without even taking their hands from the other's body.  Her smile widened as she watched them stroll away, oblivious to the slight disruption they had just caused.  "Although some things certainly _haven't_ changed," she added.

"You should rest," Stella said, but when her chocolaty hand lowered to rest on the redhead's cheek, Sandrine swatted it away with a frown.

"I've been resting for far too long," she growled.  "I'm ready to wake up."  She leveled a dangerous gaze at the singer, her mouth thin.  "And why'd you bother bringing me here if you're not going to let me have any fun?"

"You know why," Stella crooned.

"Your little parlor tricks might've worked on the little witch," Sandrine said, and her voice chilled even Iris as she spoke, "but she didn't really know what a traitorous bitch you are, now did she?"  Her nostrils flared as she fought to repress her anger.  "Whereas, I have firsthand experience on how you deliberately sabotaged all our hard work the first time around here, Bettina."

Stella blanched at the use of her previous name, but held her chin high.  "That wasn't me.  I'm only interested in getting back the voix mortelle."

"Funny."  Sandrine's gaze swept over the woman in disdain before turning away and starting to stroll down the sidewalk.  "That's what you said the first time."

She had placed several feet between her and the others, when she felt Iris fall into beside her, cool gaze appraising her from the corner of her blue eyes.  "You don't need her, you know," the vampire said, her voice barely audible above the din of the crowd.  "She wasn't able to retrieve the voix mortelle without you.  Who's to say you can't get it without _her_?"

For a moment, Sandrine's eyes softened as the memories of the past bobbed to the surface.  Bettina had betrayed her, and though it would be impossible for Sandrine to do it completely on her own, she wasn't convinced the other woman knew where the other half of the voix mortelle actually was.  Someone else did, though, and her mouth hardened as the witch's memories merged with her own.

"I have a place not far from here," Iris continued, the cajoling wheedle in her voice slithering over the smaller woman's skin like a snake.  "I also have employees who would appreciate a nice snack."

Sandrine smiled.  "I have a better idea," she replied, but before Iris could respond, she had whirled and darted to force herself between Stella and Freddie, looping her arms conspiratorially through theirs.  "Let's not fight," she said brightly to the pair.  "I'm just all cranky from this whole re-emergence thing.  Being brought back from the dead can really do a number on your head."  She deliberately ignored the puzzled frowns the pair shot at each other over her head, forcing the smile to remain on her face even as she wished to tear their arms from their sockets.  "Let's go clean up, get some food, and have a look around town.  We'll have time enough to worry about that silly staff tomorrow, right?"

*************

Willow could only watch in growing horror at the scene being played out before her.  Sandrine's thoughts came through to her in bits and pieces; it seemed the stronger the feeling, the clearer it came, and right now the other woman was sitting on about a kegful of anger and hatred directed at this Bettina person.  

That was Stella, she knew that much.  Seeing Stella now was like seeing her through a wall of water with someone else standing in the middle of the stream.  She was clearly the statuesque singer she'd met back in Sunnydale, but at the same time, there was a ghostly image superimposed over her, a curvaceous blonde with dimples that never ended.

Freddie wasn't just Freddie, either.  Over him hung the specter of a young man named Percy, who surprisingly enough, actually closely resembled his current incarnation in many ways.  Tall, bland, forgettable.  Except for the depth of anger in the black pools he had for eyes.  She realized now why she'd never really warmed up to Freddie from the beginning.

They had gone back to Iris' place, and Sandrine had immediately collapsed onto the overstuffed couch, entertaining herself by dragging out a dagger that had been on display on the end table.  Willow watched helplessly as she turned it over and over in her hands, regarding the others across the elegant living room as they waited nervously for some type of guidance from the redhead.

"You know, I've changed my mind," Sandrine announced loudly.

This was it.  It was coming.  Willow only wished she had eyes to close so that she didn't have to watch.

"It's really too late to be worrying about the staff tonight," Stella said, glancing at Iris warily when the vampire sidled closer to her.  "We have time.  You said so."

"Not about that.  I've changed my mind about _you_."  She pointed the tip of the blade at the singer.  "The way I figure it, you've done about all you can in this little adventure by bringing me back, so I think it's time to cut you loose."

Freddie jumped when Iris grabbed Stella's shoulders, a strong arm wrapping firmly about her chest, pinning her arms in place so that she couldn't move, her other hand covering her mouth.  He grimaced when she cried out in pain as her cracked ribs grated against each other, his eyes darting between her and Sandrine.  "You're not going to kill her, are you?" he croaked, fear etched across his face.

"No."  Willow could almost feel the malice drip from Sandrine's smile as she held out the knife.  "You are."

He paled.  "No," he said.  "You can't make me.  We're in this together.  Stella's been the one to organize this from the beginning.  She's---."

"---blah, blah, blah.  Save your little speech, Freddie, because I'm very much _not_ interested in hearing it.  And you're right.  I can't make you.  I could kill her myself, but then I'd be so frightened of losing your loyalty that I'd have no choice but to kill you as well.  So.  It's really up to you.  Kill her, and you live.  Don't kill her, and you both die."

Their gazes were locked, his beseeching, hers ice-cold.  "Please don't make me do this," he begged.  "Anything else to prove my loyalty to you, but not this.  Not Stella."

"But don't you see?" Sandrine argued.  "That's why it _has_ to be this.  Because I know how much you love her.  Show me that the power means more.  Show me that _I _mean more."

_No!_ Willow screamed inside her prison.  _Don't do it.  It's not worth it.  Stand up to her.  Help me fight her._  But she knew even as she thought it that it was pointless.  She could see the fear in his eyes, could practically smell it coming off his skin.  Even if she could figure out how to fight against Sandrine, it was going to be too late for Stella.  She was going to die, one way or another that night.

_Please, Buffy, you have to stop her_, she thought as Freddie lifelessly took the dagger and turned toward the captive Stella.  She saw the silent regret jump between them, two sets of eyes moist with tears about what was to come.  _You and Spike.  Find a way.  Please._

But even her frantic entreaties were silenced when the blade sliced cleanly through the singer's throat, her lifeless body falling to the floor in a spray of blood as Iris released her from her grip.

*************

With a heavy sigh, D'Hoffryn closed the portal through which he'd been viewing the events at Sira Sommeil.  So near, and yet…so far.  A close eye on Sandrine---and how right had he been about the power housed within young Willow Rosenberg when he'd visited her the previous fall, so rich, so strong---and he was sure that the staff of the voix mortelle would soon appear.  Then, it would just be a matter of retrieving the crown and it would be his again.  Whole.  In his collection.  Where it belonged.

Provided, of course, the Slayer didn't intervene again.

She was persistent, and her devotion to her friends immense, and he had no doubt that she would pursue this to the bitter end, even if she didn't know exactly what was involved.  He could conceivably send some assassins after her, but that would be costly and would very likely fail to distract her for long.  No, he needed a more serious threat to get her nose out of this business, something that would cut more deeply, something…

His smile was slow as it came to him, its simplicity appealing.  Oh, that would be delightful, he thought maliciously.  Because why kill when he could _wound_?  And wouldn't the world be such an interesting place again should those wounds be allowed to fester...

It would need to happen quickly, of course.  No time for dillydallying.  The sooner the better, because there was no telling how long Anyanka was going to keep her mouth shut.  For all he knew, she'd already blabbed the entire thing; it wasn't as if she had any doubts any longer about what this was all about.

Time to get Halfrek.  He had another job for her to do.

To be continued in Chapter 21: Star on Cecily…


	21. Star on Cecily

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.  And the chapter titles are courtesy of Miles Davis.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Sandrine has taken control of Willow's body, injuring Spike before fleeing Sira Sommeil.  Back in New Orleans, she has forced Freddie to kill Stella.  With Spike hurt, Buffy is struggling to get him back to the hotel…

*************

Giles was scribbling something on one of the hotel notepads, the telephone cradled in his shoulder, when Xander pushed the door to their room open.  He kept his silence as he dropped the suitcase by the entrance, collapsing into the chair by the window as he automatically reached forward to begin playing with the air conditioning controls.  They had had to wait forever for a flight to New Orleans, and none of them were in a good mood.  It was probably a good thing that the girls were sharing a separate room while they were here; Xander didn't think Anya liked him very much right about now.  For that matter, he wasn't sure he really liked himself very much.

"What's that about, G-man?" he asked when the Watcher set down the phone.

"Spike left a message on my answering machine," Giles replied.  "He and Buffy have moved into a hotel."  

"What, did he leave blood on the sheets at the last one or something?"  Xander rolled his eyes.  "Someone needs to teach that vamp how to be a proper houseguest or something."

"I don't know what happened," Giles murmured.  Picking up the receiver again, he began punching in a new set of numbers, reading them from his scrawled notes.  "Did you get Tara and Anya settled in?"

"If you mean, did I get heat stroke toting enough luggage to make Imelda Marcos jealous, the answer to that would be, yeah.  Last I saw, Anya was searching through the pay-per-view options.  She seems to be under the impression that she and Tara are having a girls night in, complete with porn, popcorn, and pizza.  Not necessarily in that order."  He leaned forward so that the renewed blast of cool air coming from the vent would hit him full in the face, and sighed in relief.

Giles shook his head.  "This is not a vacation," he said.  "This is---room one-four-two, please," he said into the receiver before looking back at Xander.  "This is for Willow.  We are not here for recreational purposes."

"She knows that.  She's just…venting a little bit."  Anya had been like a caged animal during the entire flight, every mile that drew them nearer to New Orleans only increasing her agitation.  Every few minutes, she would get up to wander the length of the aisle, paging the flight attendant for the most inane of requests when she found herself tied to her seat.  Only Tara seemed to be able to get through to her at the moment; her calming influence had actually saved them from a huge scene when the attendant had mistakenly brought the ex-demon an orange juice when she'd asked for apple.  He had long since decided it was a good thing that the two girls were sharing a room.  Perhaps a little distance from him and his own disorderly thoughts and emotions was exactly what they needed right now to fix what had happened between them.

The silence stretched as he watched Giles wait for an answer, the older man's frown deepening with each passing second.  Eventually, he pressed a button on the phone, and cleared his throat.  "Yes, there doesn't appear to be any answer there," he said into the receiver.  "Could I leave a message please?"

Xander's eyes fluttered shut as he listened to Giles rattle off their hotel information before hanging up the phone.  "Does this mean we can sleep now?"

Wearily, the Watcher sat on the edge of the farthest bed and took off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose.  "I suppose we should rest while we can," he said.  "There's no telling when Buffy will call back.  I suspect she's going to wish to start on searching for further information on the voix mortelle as soon as possible."

"She's probably out there right now, beating up some unsuspecting demon because he made fun of her shoes or something."  He grinned.  "With a pinch of luck, that just might be Spike."

Giles didn't answer.  He hadn't told Xander that it seemed as if Buffy and Spike were actually _sharing_ a hotel room, and though he didn't believe that it really meant anything, he couldn't help but wonder what might have happened to his Slayer since she'd left Sunnydale that would convince her to willingly do so.  Perhaps some sort of détente has been reached between them, Giles thought as he put his glasses back on and rose to get his toiletry bag.  Having Spike as a genuine ally will give us a remarkable edge, both here and back on the Hellmouth.  He and Buffy could make a formidable team if they would just work together without killing each other.

*************

"C'mon, Spike," Buffy coaxed as she eased him from the passenger seat of the Desoto.  "We're almost there."

He was only half-awake, his flesh burning from some unseen heat beneath her touch, unintelligible mutterings under his breath a whisper against her skin, and she grimaced as he slumped heavily against her side.  She was exhausted, stress from fighting with the car's mechanics as she attempted to navigate her way back to New Orleans on her own combining with the physical drain of having to keep Spike from getting hurt any further, leaving her barely able to keep her eyes open and desperately wishing that he would snap out of it long enough to be a help instead of a burden.  It wasn't a fair thought and she knew it, but with dawn beginning to creep over the horizon, she just wanted to get him into their hotel room in one piece so that the entire nightmare ride home would've been worth it.

It didn't help, of course, seeing some psycho in control of her best friend's body.  How or why it had happened to Willow escaped Buffy's grasp at the moment, and the fact that she had no idea how to fix it only cut deeper.  She beat things up, killed things.  That's how Buffy solved her problems.  How could she even think about using the same tactics on this particular enemy when it wore her best friend's face?  Though she knew she would do it if it came down to it---after all, she had actually _killed_ Angel---the possibility of what a wreck it would leave in her life ripped her heart in two.  Maybe it's just a temporary thing, she thought desperately.  Please only be a temporary thing.

In her arms, Spike's murmurings grew louder, and this time she caught the occasional word of his ramblings.  Something about glowing this time, she heard, though none of it really made sense.  He had been floating between being out cold and this semi-conscious, delusional state since she'd poured him into the car back at the swamp, and Buffy was beginning to suspect that there was more to Sandrine's little spell than just setting the vamp on fire.  He was behaving as if he were fevered, every inch of pale skin almost incandescent from the heat that was radiating from within, and the burns that scorched the left side of his body had only just stopped oozing a pale viscous liquid she didn't recognize.  Plasma maybe, she thought as she stopped before the door of their room, fishing around in Spike's pockets for the key.  She was being careful not to touch his wounds, and only hoped they didn't hurt as much as it looked like they should.

The blast of cool air was a welcome relief as Buffy pushed the door open, guiding the vampire to the nearest bed.  When he pitched forward from her arms, landing with an audible moan directly on his burns, she flinched in sympathy, scooping her hands underneath his slim form to flip him over onto his back as cleanly as she could.  There was mud and blood everywhere, and quickly, she set to stripping him of his clothes, his boots and bedraggled coat landing in a pile at the end of the bed, his t-shirt torn in half and tossed into the wastebasket.  For a moment, she debated on taking off his jeans, but as the burns stopped just above his waistline, decided against it.  The less she moved him about, the better.  Now, she just needed to get some salve onto---.

"Buffy…" Spike groaned.

She was instantly at his side, eyes searching his face as his brow wrinkled as if in intense concentration.  It was the first coherent thing she'd heard from him, and her hand itched to reach out and brush back the curls from his forehead.  She didn't, though.  She just sat perched on the edge of the mattress, ready for whatever was going to come next.  "I'm right here, Spike," she soothed.

His head turned in the direction of her voice, and he tried opening his eyes, only to grimace in pain as his left refused to work properly from the swelling in his skin.  "Feel like hell," he muttered.  Each word seemed to sap more of his strength, but there was no denying the snark underneath them, and she almost laughed in relief.

"Well, you look like hell," she replied.  "Don't move.  It'll only make it worse."

"Cold…"

Buffy frowned.  He never complained of the cold.  "I'll get you another blanket."  As she turned to go to the other bed, though, his hand shot out, grabbing her wrist with surprising strength, and she looked back to see the plea in his one open eye.

"Don't go," Spike asked.

"I was just---."

"Don't go," he repeated.

"But you said you were cold."  She noticed then that his thumb was stroking the inside of her wrist, but when she searched his face again, there was no acknowledgment there that he was doing it.

"You're warm."  Gently, he tugged at her, and she fell across his thighs, grateful at least that she'd missed the burns on his exposed flesh.  "Don't go.  Please…need you."

Sitting down put a whole new perspective on Buffy's exhaustion, and suddenly the temptation of just curling up into Spike and sleeping seemed like the best one she'd had in days.  Worry about him, about Willow, about whoever the hell this Sandrine was and why she was hanging around with Iris…all of it was eating at her insides, and she wasn't sure she had the fortitude at the moment to continue stewing on it.

"I don't want to hurt you," she argued half-heartedly, but didn't move from her position.

"Hurt more if you go," he murmured.

That settled it.  As she stretched herself out along his right side, molding herself to his hard lines, her eyes drifted closed as her head nestled into his shoulder.  His flesh actually seemed warmer than hers, but he seemed satisfied with feeling her pressed against him, his arm curled protectively around her back.  Sleep.  Sleep would be good.  Sleep would give both of them what they needed---time to regroup, time to heal, time to rest.  I'll just get a few hours, Buffy thought.  And then I'll get up and call Giles.  He'll tell me what to do.  He'll help me fix all this.

She never saw the little red light flashing on the phone.

*************

Insistent knocking from somewhere so close it could only be their door roused Buffy from her slumber, and she groaned as she buried herself deeper into Spike's shoulder, as if by doing so it would make the sharp rapping go away.  The movement only served to bring into sharper focus the heat beneath her cheek, and she lifted her head, looking at the waxiness of the vampire's complexion next to the lividity of the burns.  A quick glance at the clock told her that in spite of the five hours rest they'd had, Spike's healing powers didn't seem to have been at work, his wounds still as harsh as they had been at dawn, and she rolled herself away from him, being careful not to rouse him from his sleep.

She needed to call Giles.  There had to be something she could do outside of standard first aid that could help this.  Giles would know what that something was.

But she had to answer the door first.

Picking her way over the mess she'd left in their room, Buffy rubbed tiredly at her eyes as she reached the door.  "Who is it?" she called out, leaning her forehead against the wood, her jaws snapping wide in a tremendous yawn.

"Buffy?"

The sound of her Watcher's voice was an adrenaline shot directly into her heart, and Buffy straightened, her hand flying to undo the lock.  Throwing the door open, she had launched herself directly at him before he could react, clinging to his neck with Slayer strength that made him gasp even as he hugged her back.

"Oh my god, Giles!  You have the best Watcher timing ever!"

He smiled in spite of his discomfort.  "Well, thank you," he stuttered, and then saw the disarray of the room behind her, his gaze flicking from the pile of clothes, to the muddy footprints, to the unconscious vampire on the bed.

Buffy felt him stiffen beneath her and pulled away, stepping inside the room even as she saw the rest of the gang hanging back behind him.  "When did you guys get here?"

"Last…night," Giles replied and followed her in.  His head swiveled, his face darkening with every sweep, until finally he turned back to look at her in barely disguised worry.  "What in blazes happened here?"

"We found Willow, that's what happened"

Her words caused the others to freeze, hovering just inside the door.  "Is sh-sh-she all right?" Tara asked, her face white.  "She's not here, is she?"

Buffy's shoulders slumped.  "No, I don't know where she is now.  You guys better have a seat.  I think this is definitely a sitting down kind of story."  She waited until the girls had situated themselves around the table, Xander hovering behind Anya, while Giles crossed to the side of the bed to more closely examine Spike.

"Have you only just returned?" the Englishman asked.  "Is that why Spike looks like he fell asleep in the sun again?"

She shook her head.  "We've been in for a while, and Spike looks like that courtesy of some bitch named Sandrine---."

"That's her name!"  Anya exploded with a wide smile.

All heads turned to look at the ex-demon.  "What's that, Ahn?" Xander prompted.

"Sandrine.  The name of the mambo I couldn't remember.  I _knew_ it was something French."  She frowned, suddenly aware of why she now remembered.  To Buffy, she said, "Wait.  You saw Sandrine?  How is that possible?  She should be long dead by now."

"I don't know about the being dead part, but yeah, I saw her.  Well, I sort of saw her.  In a weird, I don't know what the hell happened, kind of way."  She sighed.  "This is the part I was hoping you'd all be sitting down for."

Briefly, Buffy explained the events of the night before, skimming over the details of how they discovered the location of the night's events and heading straight for the meat of the story in the swamp.  As she reached the part about Willow's disappearance, Tara stiffened in her seat, fearful eyes darting from the Slayer to Spike and back to the Slayer again, before locking on her folded hands in her lap.

"It took me most of the night to get back here," Buffy finished wearily.  "Spike's going to throw a fit when he sees the dings I put in his car, but at least I got him in before the sunrise."  She watched as Giles bent over the vampire's sleeping form.  "He was delirious when he was awake.  I think there was something extra in the spell she used on him.  It's like he's sick or something."  Her hand reached out to touch her Watcher's sleeve, waiting for him to look back at her before adding, "You can fix this…right?"

For a moment, Giles' eyes narrowed behind his spectacles.  It could've been just an indication of her own exhaustion, but he would lay good money that that was genuine worry on his Slayer's face.  The fact that the other bed had not been slept in had not escaped his attention either, and this additional show of concern for the vampire was only leading him to conclusions that he wasn't sure he was ready to reach.  Still, Spike had more than proven his right to their care with his diligence in rescuing Willow, so due steps must be taken.

"We can do a healing spell to help counter some of the effects," he said reassuringly.  He looked at Tara.  "I'll need your help with it."

The witch nodded.  "We'll have to get supplies."

"And breakfast?" Xander piped up.  He bristled as they all turned surprised eyes at him.  "We haven't eaten yet," he defended.  "And this growing boy is in need of pancake sustenance."  The look he shot Anya was pointed.  "Not everyone got to dine on pizza goodness last night."

This time, there was no mistaking the worry in his Slayer's eyes as she looked back to Spike.  "Is he going to be all right if we leave him here alone?" she asked.

"What's he going to do?  Take a walk?"  Anya gestured toward the closed curtains.  "It's daylight outside."

"He was really out of it," Buffy argued.  "If he's still delirious, there's no telling what he'll do."

"I'll stay and watch him."  Tara held her ground under Giles' curious gaze. "I'm not really hungry anyway, and you and Buffy should really get caught up."

"Are you sure?" he pressed.  "It might---."  He stopped himself before he went any further.  To suggest hearing more details about Willow somehow being turned into this Sandrine would most definitely _not_ make the young woman feel any better.

She nodded.  "I'll be fine."

Buffy seemed satisfied with that.  "Let me just change really quick," she said, and with a final glance at Spike, grabbed her bag to head for the bathroom.

*************

She waited until they were alone in the car before broaching the subject with him.  "Do you like Spike?" Buffy asked, watching Xander and Anya as they walked up to the IHOP to check out the wait.

Giles had suspected she would bring the vampire up sooner or later, but her question still managed to surprise him.  "It's not always necessary to like those you're forced to work with," he replied, watching her out of the corner of his eye.  "Has the past week been difficult for you?"

She was twisting her fingers in her lap.  "Difficult doesn't even begin to cover it.  Difficult would have to be the size of Montana to cover how hard this past week has been."  She looked at him then.  "Montana's one of the big states, right?"

Giles sighed.  So maybe things hadn't gone as smoothly as he'd hoped.  So much for wishful thinking.  "Well, hopefully it won't be that much longer," he offered.  "With what Anya knows and what you have learned, I'm sure we'll find a way to stop this Sandrine and get Willow back without much more interference from Spike."

"Who said anything about interference?"  Buffy said, with a puzzled frown.  "Spike's the main reason I know as much as I do.  He's been bent over backwards to help me with this.  Any more backwards, and he'd be a pretzel."

"I thought…you said…"  He stopped.  "I'm confused.  Are you and Spike not fighting?"

"Oh, we're still fighting.  I don't think that'll ever go away.  But…I don't know…"  She was at a loss for words, unable to meet her Watcher's eyes.  She didn't want to tell him about the kissing.  After what had happened with Willow's spell the previous fall, she wasn't sure he could handle knowing about that if he wasn't already blind.  But it didn't mean she couldn't talk about some of the other issues.

"Do you ever wonder about why he's helping us?  I mean, I can't think of any other vamp who'd drive the Slayer across the country just to save her friend."

"You did threaten him, Buffy.  And we almost always pay him for his troubles.  He uses us, just as we use him."

"So that's it?  That's all it is?  He's just using us?"  She turned her eyes to look at him then, and Giles saw the entreaty buried within the hazel.  She didn't want to believe that was it, he realized.  She was sitting there, willing him to convince her that it was something else, and for a moment, he wished for her sake that he could.

"He doesn't have a soul, Buffy," Giles said gently.  "Everything he does, he does without the aid of any type of moral compass.  He's not capable---."

"But what if he is?" she argued.  "What if he deliberately chose to help us find Willow, not because he was afraid of me---which we all know he's not, not really---but because he wanted to?  Because he might like Willow as a person and not as a potential dinner entrée?"

He didn't know how to answer her.  It was obvious she'd been mulling these questions over for quite some time, and though Giles wanted to give her some type of definitive answer, the truth of the matter was, when it came to Spike, he was flying just as blind as the rest of the gang.  Certainly, he had his own theories about the chip reconditioning the vampire's way of thinking, acting as an artificial means for affecting a new model of behavior, but that's all they were.  Just theories.  Until he had proof before his eyes that something fundamental had changed within Spike to indicate otherwise, he was going to be forced to consider him a potential threat, muzzled most surely, but still…a threat.

A tap at the window saved him from replying and he looked out to see Xander.

"Who's in the mood for pancakes?" the young man asked, smiling broadly.

*************

Her original plan had been to pop directly inside his hotel room, but the presence of the human female at his side had put a kibosh on that, leaving Halfrek standing outside the door, focusing her energy as she prepared to knock.  Get rid of the girl, do what she had to do, and get her tushie out of there.  Cake.

Frankly, though, she was tired of D'Hoffryn's impromptu assignments in regards to this little obsession of his over the voix mortelle, and if it wasn't for the fact that he had authorized a use of her powers that would normally require someone making a wish, she would've put up just a bit more of an argument.  OK, maybe not really.  He _was_ still her boss.  But she would've at least pulled a face when he asked her to pop over to New Orleans.  She could've gotten away with that at least.

Straightening her skirt, she settled her features into an obsequious smile, preparing for the charade she was about to put on.  It was a brilliant plan, she had to admit that.  It would most definitely serve to distract the Slayer from this current business.  But how D'Hoffryn knew Halfrek was going to get away posing as this old acquaintance of Spike's, she had no idea.  Oh well.  Not her problem.  One knock, and she heard the light footsteps approach the door.

"Hi," the blonde who answered said, a polite but confused smile on her face.  "Can I help you?"

"I'm Cecily.  I've stopped by to check on William," she said, her faux English accent firmly in place.  She let her gaze flicker over the blonde's shoulder.  "Oh, my.  Did I get the wrong room?"

"William?"  A moment, and then recognition.  "You mean _Spike_?"

The vampire's name seemed to capture his attention and both women watched as his eyes fluttered open, blue turning to blink against the sunshine streaming in through the doorway.  "Cecily?" he muttered.  

Thank god for passing resemblances and magical fevers, the demon thought as she brushed her way past the young girl.  "Hello, William," she said softly, stopping at the side of the bed.  She leaned forward and brushed the curls away from his forehead.  "You're looking a little worse for wear."

Hallie was glad the blonde couldn't see the confusion in his eyes, and took care to shield his face from her when she stepped closer.

"I'm s-s-sorry," she apologized.  "I didn't know---."

"That's perfectly all right," Halfrek interrupted.  She shot the girl a smile.  "I don't suppose I could get you to fetch me a soda from the machine?" she queried.  "This New Orleans heat just does me in, I'm afraid."

She was torn between her duty to her charge and her Southern upbringing, and the demon watched as the blonde let the debate play out silently across her face.  Manners won out in the long run, and she smiled at the arrival politely.

"Of course," she said.  "I'll be right back."

As soon as she was alone, Halfrek turned back to the bed, perching herself on its edge, ignoring the vampire's wince of pain as she brushed against the worst of his burns.  "We really shouldn't dally with this, now should we?" she said lightly.

"You're not really here," Spike croaked.

"You just keep thinking that, William."  

When her hand settled on his forehead, he flinched, trying to pull away, only to be held firmly in place by her hand pressing down onto his scorched shoulder.  "Hurts…" he muttered, but he was rooted, unable to move against her strength.

"I know, I know," she crooned.  "But not for much longer."

He struggled beneath her hands, but Halfrek's face was firm as she held him down.  There was a flash, and the veins popped out in his neck as Spike's back arched away from the bed, his teeth gritting against the pain, eyes now wide as they rolled back into his head.  It lasted for only a moment, but seemed an eternity, frozen there in time as both demons locked within the throes of her power.

When he fell back against the mattress, his lids were shut, his body unconscious yet again, and slowly, Halfrek pulled away, rising to her feet, the hand that had been on his head curled protectively around its silicon treasure.

"No more pain, William," she said, and in a blinding flash, she was gone.

To be continued in Chapter 22: In a Silent Way…


	22. In a Silent Way

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.  And the chapter titles are courtesy of Miles Davis.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Sandrine has taken control of Willow's body, Halfrek has paid a visit to Spike posing as Cecily, and the Scoobies have descended onto New Orleans, ready to tackle the Willow issue…

*************

She was forced to watch from the sidelines as Giles and Tara did the healing spell, but she was far from calm, far from feeling secure about the whole thing.  Too many fears and questions roiled within Buffy's brain, most of them instigated by the odd conversation she'd had with the blonde witch when she'd returned from IHOP.

_"Who's Cecily?" Tara had asked._

_"Who?"_

_"Cecily.  The pretty English girl who said she was a friend of Spike's?  She stopped by to see how he was doing."_

_"I don't know any Cecily."_

"Well, he knew her.  But she didn't stick around for very long.  She was gone before I could bring her back the Coke she wanted."

And that had been it.  Giles had walked in then with the rest of the supplies and the subject had been changed to the spell at hand.  It didn't leave Buffy feeling good as she stepped back, allowing them to do their thing.  Cecily?  Who was she?  She wracked her brain, trying to remember everyone they had met since coming to New Orleans, but no one sounded remotely like the description Tara had given her.  And even if she was a friend of Spike's, how in hell did she know where they were staying, let alone that Spike was hurt?  Buffy had told no one their new location, and the vamp had only admitted to calling Giles with it.  Logic dictated that there should be nobody else who should know where they were just yet.

It might've been better if Spike was conscious; at least then, she could've asked him herself.  But he was still out of it, had been since Tara had returned to find their mystery guest gone.  Buffy was tempted to try and wake him up, but sleep seemed to finally be doing him some good.  With his skin cooler to the touch, the burns less angry, the best course of action seemed to be to let Giles speed his healing powers along with the spell.

Which meant Buffy had to wait in anticipatory quiet while they went about their business.

If she could just have someone to talk to, she would've been happier.  The problem was, all the other occupants in the room were either unconscious or wrapped up in the mojo, so she was pretty much out of luck.  Even talking to Anya would've been a preferred option than stewing in silence, but the ex-demon had begged off with a headache after breakfast, driving Giles to distraction until he'd dropped her off at the other hotel.

The tension between Xander and Anya had been as thick as the blueberry syrup he'd smothered his pancakes with, but he stayed in the car when she got out, watching her through his window as she fought with the seemingly non-functioning card key.

Buffy didn't know the details---lack of privacy at the restaurant meant limited gossiping opportunities---but even she couldn't help but see something was wrong.  "It's probably not a good idea to split up right now," she'd said to him, hoping he'd take the hint.  "Not that I think Sandrine could've figured out you guys were in town already, but it's probably better to be safe than sorry, I think."

His face had flushed in relief, quickly settling into a more neutral definition as his fingers tugged at the handle.  "Right," he'd said.  "Remember to call if you need us for anything?"

Does being driven crazy by unanswerable questions qualify as needing anything? Buffy wondered, grimacing as the scent of the poultice Tara was applying to Spike's chest drifted in her direction.  The vampire wasn't moving, not even as the slim fingers eased the ointment into the worst of the burns, and the crawl of sympathetic pain the Slayer felt along her own skin made her wish---yet again---that there was something she could do.  She hugged her arms around her knees, watching as Giles stepped away and turned to face her.

"That's about all we can do at the moment," he said quietly, as if raising his voice would somehow disturb the unconscious vampire.

"How long will it take?" she asked, her gaze locked on Spike's bared chest.

"The effects should be fairly immediate," Giles replied.  "It appears as if his own natural defenses have finally begun to work as well, so really, it should just be a matter of hours before the worst of it is gone."

"And what then?"

"See what he needs."  Tara hovered at the Watcher's elbow, eyes serious.  "Make him as comfortable as he can get, but if it really hurts, try a lukewarm shower or a bath before using any more of the cream if you can help it.  It's very potent and I'm not sure what its effects on a demon might be."

"Do you wish us to…stay?"  He was hesitant to ask the question.  His charge's concern for Spike had been growing exponentially since she'd first opened the door to them that morning, in spite of the talk they had had in the IHOP parking lot, and it was very apparent that she was feeling helpless in the face of his injury.

"No," she dismissed with a vague wave of her hand.  "You guys go talk to Anya about the whole Sandrine thing.  See if she can remember anything else that might help us in finding out how they've managed to take over Willow's body in this.  I'll call you when Spike wakes up."

Giles nodded, knowing that's what she would say.  "If you need anything---," he started.

"I'll call."

She was perched on the edge of the mattress, eyes expertly scanning the wounds, before the pair had even left the room.  With Giles and the others here, she could let go a little bit of her worry about Willow while she waited for Spike to heal.  It wasn't right to see him so helpless; in spite of what he was, the vamp was by far one of the most vital people she knew and witnessing him prostrate, drained of the essence that made him soar around the periphery of her world, left her feeling vaguely uncomfortable.  

She was lying.  It was much more than vaguely.

"You better be all right," she said out loud, and risked reaching forward to trail her fingertips over his unmarked cheek.  "Don't make me kick your ass by dying on me now."  

Not when I think I'm falling in love with you, she added silently.

*************

He hadn't really said anything since following her to her room, hovering behind her as she slipped in the key---and god how she missed the days of mechanical locks and not these stupid pseudo credit cards that required split-second timing in order to get to work right---following her into her room without even bothering to ask, plopping down into the chair by the door when she'd disappeared into the bathroom.  Part of Anya hoped that Xander would be gone when she stepped back out, but the tiny wounded puppy part of her was more than a little glad that he'd come after her.  

Of course, it was kind of freaking her out that he wasn't saying anything, just watching her as she re-emerged and stretched out on the bed, not smiling but not frowning, either.  Fear about what was going to come, about facing off with Sandrine who might or might not be Willow, was stretching her nerves taut, and though she wanted more than anything to be able to work off some of the tension one way or another, she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of being the first to talk.  She hadn't done anything wrong.  One of these days, Xander would just have to realize that.

"Does it feel any better yet?" he finally said.

Anya frowned, opening her eyes to stare at him.  That wasn't what she'd been expecting him to say.  There was nothing remotely resembling an apology in those words.  "Does what feel any better?" she asked.

"Your headache."

Her excuse for not having to watch Buffy make googly eyes at Spike.  She'd almost forgotten about that.  Actually, she _had_ forgotten about it.  "It's all right," she replied, and closed her eyes again.  "You can go back to your room now.  I won't tell Buffy you shirked your duties by leaving me alone."

"What're you talking about?"

"That's the reason you're here, right?  Because Buffy doesn't want anyone on their own with Sandrine out there."  His silence was the only confirmation she needed, and Anya sighed.  Sometimes she wished that it wasn't so easy to read the Slayer.  Like this new fascination with Spike.  Well, not so new.  Anyone with two working eyes could've seen it coming.  The tension between the pair had always been ridiculously evident, and while having Riley around had probably kept the more sexual thoughts at bay, now that he was out of the picture, Anya knew that it had been just a matter of time before something exploded between them.  Apparently, that matter constituted the length of a road trip across the country.

"Just go away, Xander," she said wearily.  "I'm not really in the mood to play watchdog right now.  I'll be fine until the Slayer brigade returns."

He didn't move, though, nor did he say a word, leaving her in that same awkward silence until she felt her muscles twitching from lying still so long.  Finally, she bolted up, drawing her legs into a lotus position as she folded her arms across her chest.  "What?" she demanded.  "What is it?  Why are you finding it so necessary to annoy me like this?"

"I'm not doing anything.  I'm just sitting here."

"Sitting there being judgmental.  I can hear you thinking all the way over here."

Xander sighed.  "When are we going to talk about this, Ahn?  We can't go on like this indefinitely."

"Are you ready to apologize for how you treated me?"

His face clouded, bewilderment in his eyes.  "I know I haven't exactly been Mr. Smooth in dealing with all this, but what do I have to be sorry for?  I wasn't the one who lied---."  He broke off his thought when Anya flopped back down onto the bed, rolling away from him so that her shoulders hunched in furious knots before his face.  "Now what?  What did I say?"

She was beginning to wonder why she was even bothering.  He didn't get it, and for as long as Buffy or Willow was around, there was no way Anya was ever going to come out on top in any argument that might include them.  Xander still didn't realize just how deeply his mistrust of her cut and though she wasn't sure what else she had been expecting, it certainly wasn't this unspoken disavowal of his own fault in this.  Maybe she'd been wrong about how good things had been between them.  Maybe the past nine months had just been one big lie.

The tears stung as they sprang from nowhere, and she squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to let him see her break down.  She was strong, damn it.  She'd spent a thousand years reducing men like Xander Harris to quivering piles of entrails and corpuscles.  Quite often literally.  

So why did she feel like curling into a little ball and crying until the next millennium had passed?

"I'm tired," she said simply, keeping her voice as neutral as possible.  "I think I'm going to take a nap before the next inquisition starts."

She could hear him shuffling around in his seat and curled her body around the pillow she clutched, forcing herself to keep her eyes closed as anxiety clawed into her stomach with pincer-like needles.  It would be nice if she could just go back to worrying about this Sandrine mess like she'd been doing on the plane; that was something tangible, finite, most likely ending in someone's death.  Hopefully Sandrine's and not someone she actually cared about, like her or Xander.  But his proximity made it difficult to refocus her emotions and instead she simmered in a bath of hurt, her mind flitting from each possibility---hope that maybe he would understand just what was going on in her head, anger that he didn't, worry that perhaps she was doing something wrong, and frustration that she'd already done as much as she could and it still wasn't enough.

Behind her, the mattress shifted, depressing under his weight and pulling her toward its center, but she held her body rigid, holding her breath as she waited to see what he would do.  Seconds stretched interminably, and then she felt the hesitant touch of his fingers along her shoulder, stroking the wrought muscles with ever-increasing pressure.  The sigh escaped her before she could stop it, and mentally, Anya kicked herself for being weak even as she relaxed into his tentative massage.  How unfair was it that the pride of D'Hoffryn's fold, the vengeance demon who had wreaked havoc in the lives of thousands upon thousands of ungrateful men, could be reduced to a vulnerable mass of jelly simply from the reassuring hand of the man she cared about?  He wasn't ready to see his own blame in the mess of the last few days---on that, he had been abundantly clear---but somehow knowing that he was bothered enough to follow her into the hotel, to want to comfort her even if he didn't understand why, meant something.

She just hoped that that something was enough.

*************

Willow woke up before Sandrine.

_OK, weird with a side order of just plain eerie_, she thought.  _Hold the confusion._

Everything was black---_well, duh, she's asleep and her eyes are closed_---and the sense of nothingness that wrapped Willow in its embrace was almost scarier than the events of the previous evening.  Or morning.  She was kind of losing track of time in the face of everything that was going on.

Sandrine had ordered Freddie to get rid of Stella's body, and once she and Iris were alone, the two women had spent hours discussing the ins and outs of Sira and the voix mortelle.  It surprised Willow at first that Sandrine wasn't frightened in the least by the vampire, but after the glimpses---and sometimes too long and too hard looks---of the workings of the other presence's mind, it made more sense.  The woman who now controlled her body had seen and caused just as much mayhem and hate as any demon Willow had ever known.  There was very little that scared her at all, so sitting around having drinks was probably a Sunday in the park with Iris to her.

Her plans were oddly familiar, and more than once, Willow had wondered why it was so many people were obsessed in end of the world scenarios.  _Do they think they'll get a free pass to live when it's all over with?  Hello, end of the world means no more place for you too, you moron.  Think about it for a second._  She had quickly learned that she didn't have to listen to everything that was going on, that by refocusing her thoughts elsewhere she could block out some of the more inane and boring details of what Sandrine was considering.  She still had to see whatever Sandrine was witnessing, but it was kind of like daydreaming during class.  There, but not.  _Buffy would be really good at this_, she couldn't help but think at one point.

It helped that Sandrine seemed to have absolutely no clue that Willow was still around.  The witch was sure that if her presence was detected, one or the both of them would've done some more vodou just to purge what remained of her consciousness.  The thought terrified her.  As long as she could cling to whatever corner of her mind was available, there was a chance she could get back in control of her body.  She wouldn't give up until she absolutely had to.

The sudden light that filled her head would've made Willow blink, and she saw the world come into focus around her as Sandrine abruptly woke up.  The desire to rub at her eyes was overwhelming, and even as Willow thought it, she felt her hand lift to her face and do exactly that.  It was disconcerting.  For a brief moment, it almost felt like she had been the one to instigate the movement.  The feeling quickly passed, however, when Sandrine rolled herself over, burying herself in the blankets and closing her eyes again.

_At least it's comfortable_, she thought.  The night had been spent in Iris' apartment, though Freddie had tried arguing the fact that Stella had already made arrangements for Sandrine to have her own place.  For some reason only known to Iris at this point, the two women needed each other, and Willow was safe for as long as that need was present.  Not relaxed about it, but safe, at least.

The sensation of her stomach rumbling jerked her from her reverie, and Willow listened to it for a moment before feeling her annoyance at Sandrine swell.  _Hello, hungry here_, she thought.  _The least you could do if you're going to steal my body is feed it every once in a while._  Images of pancakes and orange juice popped inside her mind, and she heard as well as felt the corresponding growl from her abdomen.  _Wish I could just get up and go make my own breakfast,_ she thought._  Even just a banana would be nice about now._

It was then that Sandrine threw back the covers, rising to her feet and padding automatically to the door.  Willow watched as she moved almost silently to the kitchen, heading straight for the refrigerator and opening it up, peering inside at its bare shelves before closing it again.  _So much for food.  Maybe just a glass of water then._

And she moved to the sink, reaching overhead to the cupboard, just as Willow would've done had she been in control of her body.

The jolt of hopefulness sharpened the witch's attention, alerting her to the sudden realization that she wasn't really that aware of Sandrine's presence at the moment.  _Is it just coincidence?_ she wondered.  _Once might be an accident, but three times is too fluky, even for me._

_Time to test the theory._  As Sandrine's hand---_My hand! My hand!_---reached for the tap, Willow concentrated on _not_ wanting the water, and mentally squealed when her fingers hesitated above the sink, as if waiting for another command.  _Put the glass down._

Except for the fact that she knew she wasn't the one really moving her limbs, it could've been Willow who replaced the glass in the cupboard.  The possibilities of why it was happening tumbled around inside her thoughts, but even as they did so, she felt the insidious cold pressure of Sandrine returning to consciousness, as if it had taken her this long to fully awaken.  Her thoughts, like icy fingers slinking around her brain, permeated Willow's, and she felt the modicum of control she had gained slip away, leaving her as helpless as she had been before.

_Except I'm not helpless.  She doesn't know I'm here.  And if I can tell her what to do when she's not fully awake, I don't have to sit back and wait for Buffy and Spike to come around and save me.  I can do some of the saving myself, for a change._

*************

He wasn't cold any more.  If anything, it felt like his flesh was on fire, his left side searing as he kicked at the blanket bunched around his feet.  With a grimace, Spike opened his eyes, peering into the too-bright light of the hotel room, the edges of everything fuzzy and glowing as if his eyes had been closed for decades and he was only now regaining his sight.  Next to the bed, he saw Buffy sitting curled up in the chair, a sheen of sweat glistening across her forehead, a drop of moisture collecting in the tiny hollow above her upper lip.  The word _scrumptious_ popped unbidden into his head, and in spite of his discomfort, Spike felt the stirrings of his arousal within the confines of his jeans, the denim yielding only the slightest to the pressing of his of erection.

She was asleep, or at least resting, her eyes closed, lashes surprisingly dark against her cheek.  Through the cracks of the curtains, he could see the promise of sunshine, and wondered briefly why she was so tired during the daytime.  That's when the memories of the previous night came flooding back, the confrontation with Red/not-Red, the power of the gris gris repelling the attack on Buffy, the magic that had slammed into his body with the poker-hot claws that had made his flesh crawl.  He vaguely remembered getting back to the hotel---although how the Slayer had managed in his car made his head ache---and for some reason, Spike was convinced that he'd dreamt of Cecily and the blonde witch, both of them speaking to him, touching him, making his body hurt even more.

Should've just stayed on the Hellmouth, he groused silently, but knew even as he thought it that it wasn't what he wanted.  No way in hell would he have traded any of the past week, even if he did currently feel like a marshmallow left a little too long over an open flame.  Being with the Slayer---_Buffy_, he could think of her like that now---made him begin to feel like his old self again in a lot of ways, in spite of the psychological setbacks he'd experienced learning about the gris gris woman's eerily familiar words.  He felt strong, empowered.  Respected, almost.  Buffy had come a long way in trusting that he could help, and for some reason, that meant more than any of the other combined.

The urge to sit up was overwhelming, and with a slight groan, Spike swung his legs around, setting his feet down on the floor as he sat himself up.  Immediately, Buffy's eyes flew open, her own limbs mimicking his actions, and she was standing there, hands pressing into his shoulders, holding him back from rising completely.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.  "You're not going to heal if you don't take it easy."

"Good morning to you, too," he said.  His head tilted, his brows knitting together as he watched her gaze sweep over his wounds, the hands that had been holding him down dancing over the edges of the burns gracing his skin.

"They look better," she commented.  "Do they still hurt?"

His response was a sharp hiss when she touched a particularly sensitive spot.  "Like a bitch," Spike admitted.  "But bein' conscious I figure bodes well for gettin' better."

"Yeah, Tara's spell really seemed to work."  She frowned, suddenly aware of the stickiness of her skin, and glanced behind her at the radiator.  "Why is it so hot in here?" Buffy said.  Crossing to the wall, she began turning dials on the air conditioning, her frown deepening as nothing happened, the grate remaining silent as the fan refused to work.  "Crap," she muttered.  "It was working earlier."

"Did you say Tara's spell?" Spike asked.  "Does that mean Rupert and your little friends finally decided to show their faces?"

She nodded, absorbed in the mechanics as she tried to get it to work.  "Tara watched you while we went out for breakfast and got the supplies to do the healing spell.  You were really burning up for a while there."  She paused, and he could see the thoughts playing across her face before she turned back to look at him.  "Who's Cecily?"

It was the last name he expected to ever hear from Buffy's mouth, and he visibly started.  "How the hell do you know about Cecily?" he demanded.

"She stopped by to see how you were doing.  When did we meet her?  Because I can't remember."

All thoughts of his pain vanished.  Cecily?  Here?  Wasn't possible.  Spike's mind flitted back to his dreams, the sensations of Cecily's fingers on his head, the pain that had wracked through him.  What had she said to him?  He remembered being called William, and something about…pain?  Fuck.  For some reason, it seemed important that he know what had happened, because how in hell had somebody from today even known about a callous bitch who'd lived more than a century earlier?  

More importantly, why would they pose as her?

"Spike?"

He realized then that Buffy was waiting for an answer, and shook his head.  "It's not possible," he said as strongly as he could manage.  "Someone's just messin' around with us.  Maybe it's Iris."  He didn't really think so, but at that point, there didn't seem to be any other options.

It was enough to distract Buffy, though, and she turned away.  "I'm going to call Giles," she said.  "We need to get out of this hotel if we've been found.  Plus, this heat without air conditioning?  Not my idea of fun."

He didn't really hear her, though, as memories of long ago danced before his mind's eye, questions upon questions piling up as he tried to sort out the fantasy from the reality.  What exactly had happened?  Cecily being around just couldn't be, yet there had apparently been witnesses to her presence.  Maybe it wasn't a dream.  Maybe it had actually occurred.

But if that was true, what in the name of everything that was unholy did that mean for him?

To be continued in Chapter 23:  Black Satin…


	23. Black Satin

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.  And the chapter titles are courtesy of Miles Davis.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Buffy has called Giles about finding another place to stay, while Spike is wondering about the mystery of Cecily…

*************

"Do you really think that's such a good idea?"  Giles frowned as he watched Buffy toss the clothing she had only recently unpacked back into her bag, noting with confusion the sheen of the evening gowns Spike had bought for her as she carefully folded them.  Mopping at the sweat that beaded on his brow, he felt it begin an insidious path down the back of his neck, crawling beneath his open collar to add to the sticky rivulets that forced his shirt to cling to his skin, augmenting his discomfort beyond the headache he was already nursing.  At this rate, he might as well be outside helping Xander load up the car.  It might actually be cooler in the sunshine.

"I think it's a great idea," Buffy countered.  "Spike and I pretty much beat up our welcome wagon around Midnight to be any good on the recon detail, so until we either have more information or bigger firepower, it's pointless for us to show our faces there."

They had been going back and forth on this ever since that morning.  Buffy was adamant about everyone steering clear of Iris and her gang until they had more information, while Giles didn't understand why she would ignore such a valuable source.  To him, it made perfect sense to try and find out if Willow---_Sandrine_, he had to keep reminding himself---was still with the vampire, and what better place than at the demon's club?  Even Spike had said that human clientele was relatively safe there; in the few moments he'd been present after Giles had arrived, he'd portrayed the nightclub as a high-class but low-profile operation.  This Iris seemed to be more interested in keeping up appearances and having the nice things in life than making waves that would only draw attention to her more diabolical operations.  That's why when the occasional unescorted human wandered in, they were left unmolested.  Generally speaking.

Of course, the irony that he was siding with Spike rather than Buffy on this didn't escape the Watcher.  But he couldn't help but feel that perhaps in this one instance, Spike might not know better than his charge.  After all, he was much more familiar with the comings and goings of New Orleans nightlife.  If his description was accurate, there was no reason a careful approach to the club couldn't be made to gather more information.

"I understand that," Giles said.  "It's this search for your mysterious gris gris woman I'm debating.  I'd feel much better if you waited until daylight."

She hesitated in her packing, her hand automatically reaching up to finger the leather bag hanging around her neck.  When she'd related the gris gris story to him over breakfast, Buffy had conveniently left out the details of the woman's words and their correlation to Drusilla's own visions.  That was between her and Spike, and until she could be sure of Giles' reaction, she wasn't willing to spill on that just yet. 

"She's the only reason you don't have an extra-crispy Slayer right now," she said instead.  "We need to know what she knows, and if at all possible, get more of these to protect us from Sandrine."  She smiled.  "Maybe she'll give us a two for the price of one deal.  Gotta keep an eye on that Watcher budget, you know."  

The Englishman sighed.  "I understand the _need_ to see her.  I'm merely questioning your timing.  Spike's not completely healed yet.  He'll be a liability---."

"Hey!"  Despite the closed bathroom door that separated them, Spike's annoyed voice rang clear.  "I heard that, Rupert!"

Buffy ducked her head, hiding her smile from her Watcher.  "I know it still looks bad," she said, resuming her packing, "but he says he's feeling about a hundred times better.  I have to trust that Spike's going to know when he can and can't contribute to a fight."

The raising of his Giles' eyebrows spoke volumes.  "This is _Spike_ we're talking about here.  He's not exactly renowned for his calm and rational thought."

"I think you'd be surprised.  He's done nothing but be rational since we started this."  She stopped just long enough to look at him, gaze steady.  "And I'm sticking by what I said.  I trust Spike."

*************

He doubted the witch could hear what was being said in the other room---although after his outburst, Spike couldn't be certain she wasn't trying to at least pay attention to them---but he lowered his head anyway, averting his gaze as he was reluctant to have her witness the surprised elation in his eyes in catching Buffy's words.  

_I trust Spike_.  

So different from before.  And saying it to her Watcher?  Unheard of.  Sure, she could turn around and mouth those kind of platitudes to Spike's face, but to actually have the stones to say the same thing to Giles meant that it was important to her.  That the words actually meant something.  Not just lipservice about what he wanted to hear, and not an excuse to fob off in an attempt to get her Watcher off her back.  Red's safety meant too much to Buffy; she wouldn't do anything she thought would be a risk to losing her.

None of this had been expected, and if he'd been asked a month earlier about whether it was what he wanted, Spike would've given whoever suggested it a sound thrashing, regardless of the headache it might've caused.  Now, he was ready to fight to keep it, which meant getting this business with Red sorted as quickly as possible.  Nobody was going to fuck with what he had going here, and if it meant staking Iris himself, he'd be more than happy to do it.

A sharp stab in his shoulder jolted him back to the reality of the hotel bathroom, and Spike's head jerked around, blue eyes blazing as he glared at Tara.  She was cleaning out more of his wounds, and though his pain was markedly less than when he'd first woken up, the coarse dampness of the flannel as she dabbed at the burns sent searing slivers of pain into his muscles when the threads caught on the worst of the injury.

She flinched at his reaction, yanking the cloth away.  "Sorry," she mumbled, and turned to run it under the tap again, washing away some of the dried blood that had come away from the wound.

Spike forced himself to relax, smelling her fear as it wafted from her skin.  "It's all right," he said gruffly.  "Guess I should be grateful I'm at least standing, considering just a few hours ago, I was pretty much toast.  Owe you a spot of thanks for that."

"It w-w-was Mr. Giles' idea.  I just came along for the ride."  The smile she offered him was hesitant, but he caught the slight gleam in her eye, the faint hint of pride at having her spell work out so well daring to poke out its head, and smiled back.

"Still, I'm not so blinkered that I don't see how much you're doin' here.  You didn't have to sit with me earlier, you know.  You could've just gone off and had your pancake breakfast with the rest of the little Scoobies.  I would've been just fine all on my lonesome."

She shook her head.  "Buffy was worried."

"Yeah, well, sometimes the Slayer---."  He cut himself off, unwilling to divulge anything more than he had to.  

Her hands returned to his injuries, gentler this time if that was at all possible, and Spike could see the question flickering behind her eyes.  "Buffy takes care of the people who are important to her," Tara finally ventured softly.  "That's not such a bad circle to be in, you know."

It dawned on him, then.  In spite of her limited exposure to them---hell, she'd only seen them interact with both of them conscious for the few minutes before dragging him into the bathroom to check his wounds---Tara had seen what had taken Buffy and Spike what seemed like forever to discover.  Are we that easy to read? he wondered.  Do I have to worry about Rupert and Harris sussing this thing out between us before we're ready for it to air?  

He knew, though, that the answer to both questions was no.  This was a Tara quirk, this uncanny ability to see beyond the masks, to slough away the chaff and appreciate the shine underneath without introducing discomfort in those she saw.  Caring borne of pain, he realized.  No wonder Red loved her so much.

"We'll get her back," Spike said quietly, referring to the redhead.  "The Slayer'll see to that."  It was almost as an afterthought, reaching up to catch her busy fingers with his own, that he added, "_I'll_ see to that."

She was silent, lost in whatever remnants of thoughts his words evoked.  "Sometimes…I wish…"  Her tone was faint, her words translucent as they floated to his ear.  "…I think that it would be…easier not to care so much, you know?  Because when it looks like you might…lose it…"  The tiniest of cracks appeared in her voice.  "…it h-h-hurts _so_ much, and you just want to brick everyone out.   Because it's safer.  And it's lonely but it's better than feeling like you've been eaten from the inside out, and you're just a sh-sh-shell of what you used to be."  She looked at him then, eyes shining.  "But then you remember what life was like before, how dark it was, how…chaotic, and you realize just what's been given to you.  And you know you can't give up on it, no matter what, because it's just not worth it to go back to that place."

It was more than he'd ever heard come from the witch's mouth, and Spike knew without her having to say so just why she'd chosen to share it with him.  These were thoughts nobody else could understand, not without having been to those ebony corners where shadows reigned, where he had _lived_.  Who would've believed that the pair of them could understand the other?  Certainly not him.  Yet here it was.  And surprisingly, he _liked_ it.

The slight squeeze he gave of her fingers was reflexive, but it served to break her from her reverie with a nervous laugh.  "So…" she said, pulling away to turn back to the sink.  "Was that Cecily helping you guys?" Tara paused, catching her own flawed logic.  "Except…maybe not, because Buffy didn't seem to know who I was talking about when I told her about her stopping by."

The name chilled his good mood, and his mouth thinned.  "That wasn't Cecily," Spike said tightly.

She matched his frown with her own.  "B-b-but…she knew you.  And you knew her.  And…and…she called you William.  That's your name, isn't it?"

"Haven't been William in a long time.  And Cecily hasn't been around in almost as long.  Whoever that was, wasn't good news.  Buffy and I are going to find out just what's goin' on before any more of this nonsense walks in under our noses."  His tone was cutting, and he watched her visibly retreat from his coldness, his unspoken accusation for allowing Cecily to enter driving her away.  Spike grimaced, and stood, turning his back to her to reach for his shirt.  "You couldn't have known, ducks," he tried.  "Don't fuss yourself over it."

"I don't understand.  It was daylight, and I didn't invite her in.  Was she a demon?"

He snorted.  "You know humans who disappear that quick-like?"

Tara seemed to consider this.  "Maybe she was a witch.  Able to teleport and..shapeshift, and read your…"  Her voice trailed away, the ridiculousness of what she was saying sinking in.  "I'm s-s-sorry.  I didn't know."

Reaching for his shirt, Spike felt her eyes on his back as he carefully pulled it over his head, trying not to wince when the stitched hem caught on the worst of the burn.  "It's all right, pet, 'cause apparently, she fooled these old eyes, too, remember?"  He knew even as he said it that that wasn't exactly true, that he'd been more blinded by his pain than anything else, but the need to reassure Tara was great.

She shook her head.  "I just don't understand why.  What does whoever this is gain by pretending to be somebody you know?"

His face was grim, his eyes glinting as he glanced back at the witch.  "Don't know," he admitted.  "But that's tops on me and the Slayer's agenda to find out."

*************

"This is crazy," Xander muttered as they neared the door of the club.  "We might as well be wearing signs around our neck saying, 'Want a nummy treat?  Ask me how!'"

"You didn't have to come," Anya replied.  "We could've just as easily rented a tuxedo for Giles, you know."  She stopped on the sidewalk, smoothing her hands over the black satin of her dress as she peered at the blacked-out window, using her faint reflection as a mirror to check her appearance.

He had to admit, she looked good.  Great, in fact.  The dress they'd "borrowed" from Buffy---and why exactly Buffy had not one, not two, but _three_ evening dresses appropriate for going to Midnight, Xander did _not_ want to think about---clung to Anya's angular curves in a way that made him wish they were back at the hotel instead of about to go parading before the local demon brigade.  Sure, it was an inch or two on the short side, but the added exposure of her ankles only enhanced her appearance, he thought.  He was almost glad that none of the dresses had fit Tara; as much as he hated this plan, getting to be the one to show off his gorgeous girlfriend gave him a silent thrill.  Now, if he could just get her to look at him without that damning annoyance in her eyes, like he'd let her down, life could start back down the road of being good again.  

"I think _any_ of us just waltzing into a vampire bar is insane," he said, trying to reinforce to her how foolhardy he thought this whole idea was.  It had surprised him to hear Giles suggest it after Buffy and Spike had left for the French Quarter, but no amount of arguing had seemed to shake the Watcher's opinion that they would be relatively safe.  And when Tara had chimed in on the wanting to do something proactive instead of waiting around for the two blonds to return from trying to track down their gris gris woman, he knew he had been outvoted.

Anya didn't even look at him.  "Stop over-reacting.  It's not any different from going into Willy's for information, except we get to dress up and our shoes won't stick to the floor.  We're going to be fine."

She grabbed his hand before he could respond, dragging him toward the front door, leaving him to cast one last glance over his shoulder at the car parked just down the street.  Giles and Tara were waiting there, keeping an eye on the outside of the club while Xander and Anya scoped out the in, and though he couldn't see them in the darkness of the night, he found it reassuring knowing they were only a phone call away should something go wrong.  Anya carried the cell phone, while he had the stakes she was adamant they weren't going to need tucked inside his jacket.  That was the extent of their weapons.

He just hoped it was enough.

The inside of the club was not what he expected, its elegance dripping in crystal and clean lines.  While Anya seemed to slip into the ambience like a satin glove, he couldn't help but suddenly feel like Bonzo, pulling at his collar as the artificial chill iced over the sweat that had sprung to his skin on the sidewalk.  Buffy had told them that the preponderance its patrons were vampires, but she hadn't mentioned that they were _good-looking_ vampires, with more style and grace than he saw in those Hollywood wrap parties on _E!_.  If he thought he stuck out like a sore thumb before, actually being inside Midnight made him feel absolutely gangrenous.

Anya acted like a woman with a mission, pulling him straight for the bar and flashing the man---vampire?---behind it her brightest smile.  "Two glasses of red wine," she said, her outward demeanor fading only slightly as he tugged at her elbow.

"You're going to get us carded," he whispered.  "As much as I'd prefer jail to vamping, shouldn't we be trying to keep a low profile here?"

Rolling her eyes, she pulled herself away, easing herself onto the nearest stool.  "For once in your sad, pathetic, _human_ life, Xander," she said, "will you just give me the benefit of the doubt and follow my lead?"  

Her voice was just as low as his, but there was no mistaking the anger in her words.  He knew, even as his mouth opened to speak, that this was the perfect opportunity for him to begin trying to make up for the hurt feelings she'd had regarding his reactions back in Sunnydale.  The smart thing would've been to stay silent.  The smart thing would've been to take his own seat and look out over the crowd, to see who would be the first person they would hit up for information.  The smart thing---.

It was the etched hurt in her brown eyes when she glanced back at him that froze his tongue, the single word tumbling from her lips.  "Please?"

Mute, Xander nodded, reaching for the wine glass that had magically appeared before him.  Something told him, this was going to be a long night.

*************

She seemed to glow, and as the minutes passed, Xander found himself unable to tear his eyes from Anya, listening to her laugh and chat with the various men who came to the bar as if he was seeing her for the first time.  She barely paid him any attention, focusing instead on the pointed conversations in which she engaged, but every once in a while, he thought he caught the corner of her eye, sharing those infinitesimal moments of partnership that had been much more plentiful before this whole mess had started.

Each one hurt.  Each one only served to remind him just how different they were now, how far away he'd driven her with his inability to see past what she'd done.  Was it really that bad?  Even this afternoon, lying next to her at the hotel, he hadn't been able to grasp just why he had to apologize, but now…now he was seeing the woman he was throwing away with both hands, watching as she swallowed the fear that had bubbled her nerves ever since boarding the plane in Sunnydale to do what had to be done.  This was a risk; they both knew it.  In spite of the Watcher's assurances, in spite of having Giles and Tara as a back-up just outside, there was still danger in being so near to the vampire Willow had last been seen with.

And yet, here she was.  Chatting and laughing as if nothing was wrong.

And he was feeling like the jerk of the century for taking so long to see just how much she was doing here.

"Ahn."  He leaned forward, lowering his mouth to her ear, the smell of her shampoo filling his nostrils.  "Maybe we should call it a night."  His intent was to get her out of there, to get her back to the hotel so that they could have the talk they should've had after breakfast.  But like everything else that had come out of his mouth lately, it backfired.

She stiffened beneath his almost touch, her shoulders straightening as her fingers tightened around her wine glass.  "I'm sorry I'm not getting information fast enough for you, Xander," she said coldly, and slid from her seat.  "Maybe I should mingle.  I might actually be of some use to you people for a change."

She was gone before he could stop her, a midnight fancy amidst a swirl of color, and his mouth thinned.  Way to go to push her away, Xander scolded himself.  And now she's out there, without a weapon, and you're stuck here at the bar with just a piece of wood to defend yourself.  Too bad that wood seems to be your head.

*************

For a little while there, Anya thought it had been working.  She'd been charming, she'd been funny, she'd been fucking adorable, and when Xander had ordered his third glass of red wine without taking his eyes off her, she had thought that that was it.  He was finally seeing what exactly he was missing.  Then he had opened his mouth and practically called her useless by suggesting it was time to go home, and she realized that he still wasn't getting it.

She had hated the plan as much as he had when Giles suggested it.  And how annoyed was she that Tara couldn't fit into any of the Slayer's dresses?  It was _her_ stupid girlfriend who was in trouble; _she_ should be the one in here digging for more information on Sandrine and the voix mortelle.  But no.  She couldn't fit Midnight's stupid dress code, leaving Anya to be the Nancy Drew for the night.

Her hopes had risen when Xander had jumped to be the one to go with her, but all his complaining---at the rental shop, in the car, outside the club---had only showed her that he didn't trust her to get the job done.  He couldn't seem to wrap his brain around the fact that she'd dealt with demons for the last thousand years.  Did he think that she automatically forgot all that when she became human?  That all the experience she'd gained had suddenly vanished?

Obviously he had.  Because she was now alone at a small table, occasionally glancing at him sitting at the bar, wishing fervently he would just come over and tell her that he understood, so that they could both go back to the hotel and make up.

"Hey there."

So lost in her reverie, Anya hadn't noticed the forty-ish gentleman approach her seat, his pale complexion telling her without having to even blink that he was a vampire.  Her smile was automatic, though, and her response, seemingly genuine.

"I have got to ask," he continued, his head tilting slightly as his eyes narrowed in contemplation, "because it's been bugging me ever since you walked in.  I know you're human, but why is it a lovely young thing like you smells like you've been around longer than I have?"

She blushed under his appreciative stare, surprising herself with her response.  "Ex-vengeance demon," she admitted, and chuckled when his dark eyes went wide, holding out her hand in greeting.  "I'm Anya."

"And I'm intrigued," he replied, taking her offering between both his cold palms.  He was still holding her hand when he slid into the chair next to her.  "Tom.  I don't think I've ever met an _ex_ demon before."

"I'm kind of on a break from the vengeance gig.  I thought I'd look up some old friends I haven't seen in a while."  The latter had been her standard line in introducing the subject all night.  So far, it had gotten her bupkiss.

Tom's eyebrows lifted.  "Awfully risky since you're human now," he commented.

She smiled.  "Risky is my middle name."  Though she had started getting tired of doing the flirting thing prior to moving away from the bar, Anya seemed to have developed a second wind, her eyes twinkling in satisfaction as she saw Xander straighten in his chair.  Serves him right, she groused.  I deserve to be flirted with, even if he doesn't want to be the one doing the flirting.

Settling back into his chair, his dark gaze swept the room.  "So if you're trying to find old friends, why is it you're sitting over here all on your lonesome?"

"Because nobody's seen her around," she replied.  She leaned forward, fingers playing with the stem of her glass.  "Maybe you know her.  She's a friend of Iris'.  Her name is Sandrine."

*************

If the perks weren't so great, he would've quit ages ago because living in fear of his boss and her little distractions was starting to get a little old.  Especially now that she'd hooked up with that little human.  Normally, he wouldn't have given the small girl a second thought---except as dinner---but after hearing about what she'd done to Spike and having to dispose of that black singer's body, he was beginning to re-evaluate his impressions.

He knocked at the door, body stiff as he waited to gain admittance.  At least he was showing up with less than dire news.  In fact, he was fairly certain that they would be pleased he'd actually picked up on this.  Maybe it would merit him a bonus in some way.

Iris' voice filtered through the thick door.  "Come in."

He didn't bother crossing the threshold, just hovering in the entrance as he looked to see his boss and the redhead lounging on the couch, both of them decked in black and looking absolutely amazing.  His mouth watered at the thought of the human's heat searing down his throat, and he visibly swallowed as he forced himself to focus on Iris.  "There's something going on out in the club you need to be aware of," he said.  "Somebody's asking around about Sandrine."

The redhead stiffened.  "Is it Buffy?" she asked.

He shook his head.  "Another blonde.  Human.  She came in with a dark-haired guy but she hasn't been paying him too much attention.  I sent Tom over to see if he could get any more information from her.  Apparently, she claims to be an ex-vengeance demon."

The tension in Sandrine's body eased, and the malevolent smile she turned to Iris glittered with glee.  "Remember what I said about the mountain?" she said.  "Get ready to meet Mohammed."

*************

He didn't want to watch her anymore, turning in his seat so that his back was to her, ordering another glass of wine without realizing he'd already more than passed his limit.  It hurt, seeing her laugh like that with someone who wasn't him, and though Xander knew she wasn't doing anything he didn't deserve, part of him wanted to go over there, turn into Neanderthal man, and drag her out by her hair so that this whole charade would stop.  Except, was it a charade?  Was she pretending?  Or was she finally getting a chance to be the person he didn't seem to let her be?

Turning around didn't make a difference in not watching.  He could see her in the mirror behind the bar, which was more than a little disconcerting as the lack of reflections from most of the clientele was giving him the wiggins.  It was a cacophony of sounds behind him---laughter, and music, and the clink of glasses---and yet it appeared as if the club was nearly empty.  Anya, especially, looked odd laughing and talking to herself, even though Xander knew if he glanced back, he'd see the vampire sitting opposite her.

The flash of red in the corner would've gone amiss if there had been more to distract him in the mirror.  As it was, he had to consciously squint at the reflection, the briefest doubt flickering across his mind, before it appeared again.

Red hair.

Wide green eyes.

Willow.

Instinct took over, and Xander stumbled from his seat, jerking around to see his best friend hovering in the entrance to what looked like the ladies' room.  The crowd between them seemed to multiply as he pressed himself forward, alcohol clouding his rational thought as well as loosening his limbs so that walking seemed to take extra effort.  But still he pressed.

Gotta get to Will, he thought.  She's here.  Have to help her.

More than once, he got an annoyed elbow in the ribs as he bumped into the wrong person, and one vamp even snarled when he accidentally stepped on his foot.  Doesn't matter, Xander kept silently chanting.  Doesn't matter.  Get to Will.  Help Will.  Doesn't matter.

The door loomed in front of him, but all signs of the redhead were gone, leaving in her stead a burly demon with a face not even a mother could love.  Glancing around, there was no sign of her, and tentatively, he reached forward to push the door open.

"Don't think so," the guard rumbled, stepping sideways to block the entrance.  Yellow flashed in his eyes, causing Xander to back up awkwardly, and the young man held up his hands in a gesture of peace.

"Just looking for my friend," he said.

"Well, go look somewhere else.  This here's off-limits to non-personnel."

For a second, Xander considered the weight of the stake in his pocket and debated if he could force his way past him.  He'd seen Willow; he was sure of it.  And she needed their help.

It was the "their" in his thoughts that shook his head clear.  Safety in numbers, he decided.  We know now that Willow's here, so I just have to go get Buffy and the others, and we can storm the proverbial castle to rescue her.  Just have to get Anya and get out of here first.

"My mistake," Xander mumbled, and turned around, pushing his way past the throng he'd just navigated to return to his place at the bar.  Tossing a couple bills onto the counter, his glance into the mirror was almost habitual, the shock of what he didn't see there startling him sober faster than spotting Willow across the room.  A jerk of his head only confirmed what he'd already seen.

Anya was gone.

To be continued in Chapter 24: Wait 'til You See Her…


	24. Wait 'til You See Her

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.  And the chapter titles are courtesy of Miles Davis.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  While the rest of the gang staked out Midnight, leaving Anya to go missing, Buffy and Spike have gone off in the search of the mysterious gris gris woman…

*************

Only the occasional tingle reminded Spike of his injuries, the odd slither of pain down his side when he moved in an unusual direction, and he silently thanked the witch and Rupert for their little mojo to get him over the worst of it.  Whatever they had done, it had worked wonders.  He'd never seen a healing spell take effect so quickly, or so thoroughly.  Red's little girlfriend is more powerful than we all thought, he mused.  Probably should do to keep an eye on that one.

With the moon shining brightly overhead, he and Buffy prowled the streets of the French Quarter, trying to retrace her steps from that first day in the city, on the lookout for the shop she swore up and down the gris gris woman owned.  While the familiar scents of the city hung in the air---that sickly sweet sewage smell that was uniquely New Orleans---Spike didn't notice it as much as the other, the eruption of aromas emanating from human bodies.  

Sweat.  

Fear.  

Adrenaline.  

Arousal.  

Blood.  

No matter where he turned, some revenant of fragrance charged his senses, reminding him of just how hungry he really was, abrading his flesh with granular fingers until his skin crawled in anticipation.  It came from anywhere and everywhere---the tourists with their garish attempts to play up the party atmosphere of the town, the more daring of the locals amused by the displays the out-of-towners were putting on, even the occasional wannabe seeking out the underbelly of everything they'd been told.  

His was not the only nose that was tickled.  More than once, Spike caught the eye of another vampire as it passed, silent assessments passing between demons that told of his superior power even in light of his injury.  It didn't surprise him to see so many out; this section of the city was one of the areas his kind was able to walk about with relative impunity.  They were, in fact, embraced by many of the tourists as part of the attraction, and he felt an odd sense of nostalgia and longing as he watched more than one sneak off into an alley with a willing victim.  The good old days, he thought, and then remembered where he was, who he was with.  

She had been blind to the various demons that had passed them, saying nothing, but Spike wasn't surprised.  Buffy had enough on her plate at the moment.  It was understandable why she was distracted.  Good thing, too, because as far as he could tell, no one knew that it was the Slayer who walked at his side, a minor blessing in disguise.  With what they needed to accomplish, having to deal with even more trouble than they already had would've only wasted precious minutes.

Not for the first time that night, his eyes slid to his right, flickering over her lithe form as she stopped and started, looking up and around.  She'd dressed lightly, a halter top and small shorts that curved around her ass, in an attempt to combat the still sweltering heat, but sweat still managed to shine along her skin under the moonlight.  He could see her pulse hammering in the hollow of her throat, and combined with the aromas that clung to the air, had to struggle to quell the demon within, his mouth watering at the thought of his tongue running along her skin, salty tang mixing with the coppery flow of her hot, sweet blood as it---.

Spike jerked his eyes away.  Fuck.  He'd been having thoughts like this all night.  Images of a sweating Buffy lying beneath him, his cock buried deep inside her, her head arched back exposing her neck, his fangs nipping at her jugular.  He was rock-hard, had been almost since leaving their old hotel, and while he certainly entertained the notion that getting this done and over with as quickly as possible so that he and the Slayer could slip away for a quick shag was delectable, the other left him with a sense of disquiet that made his pace quicken.

He heard her talking then, and turned to see her stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, a group of four college boys semi-surrounding her as she turned on the Summers charm.  The description of the store she was looking for tumbled from her luscious mouth, punctuated with girlish giggles that instantly made Spike frown, and he couldn't help but notice the hungry gazes of the young men as they watched her play with the ends of her hair.

Stuffed deep inside his duster pockets, Spike's hands balled into fists.  This was not the first time she'd tried this trick tonight.  In her attempt to find the gris gris woman, Buffy was stopping strangers in the street, asking them if they could help, and when the stranger happened to be male, she played her coquette card, flirting and smiling with an abandon Spike had only seen directed at him when she was drunk.  It didn't last, though.  When no answers were forthcoming, she would politely say thank you and walk away, resuming her place at his side as if nothing had happened.  But the effect of it was still there, seething inside him with his growing hunger, knotting him tighter and tighter with each foot they traversed.

It wasn't as if she was acting distanced around him.  She was in her all-business mode, intent on finding the woman as quickly as possible and getting back to the others.  Spike supposed that if he ventured to touch her, she wouldn't recoil, but to that point, he hadn't tried, maintaining his distance in order to let her work.  She was worried---he knew that---but watching her slip into such flirtatious behavior was churning his jealousy so that it blistered him in ice.

What happened to things being different between you? Spike scolded himself.  It's all about the trust now, and the friendship, and the…the other.  Except that other had still yet to be clearly defined.  Lovers, in the technical sense of the word.  Lovers…in the literal?

He stole another glance at her.  She wasn't even paying him any attention now, green gaze intent on the shops that lined the street, slim fingers occasionally straying to the charm that hung around her neck.  He had no clue as to her depth of feelings for him.  For the first time since he'd met her, Buffy was proving to be an enigma, hiding from his inquisitive eyes the truth of her emotions by not wearing them on her sleeve.  If she felt anything more for him than lust and maybe a strong like, she was playing it close to the vest, her actions in the shower be damned.  For all he knew, he was just another bloke to have a little fun with.

But then, maybe she did care.  It wasn't like Buffy to be doing for him the things she'd been doing.  Announcing to her Watcher she trusted him?  Demanding someone stay with him to ensure his safety?  Forcing him to get out of his own head when doubt seemed to be winning?  Not the actions of someone who didn't care.

Still.  It would be a helluva lot simpler if she'd just say the damn words.

And stopped flirting with every Tom, Dick, and Wanker that walked down the street.

But what about him?  Was he ready to admit that his feelings for the Slayer had grown beyond a professional respect?  Was he ready to be at her beck and call, even if she didn't want him around, just for the few scraps she would throw him?  Was he ready to have his heart stomped again if this was all just a game to her?

After what had happened with Dru?  Hell no.

He realized then that Buffy had stopped again, and brought himself to a halt to turn back and look at her.  She was frowning down at the gris gris in her hand.

"Stupid thing's broken," he heard her mutter irritably.

"What's that, pet?" he said, taking a step back to her.

She blushed at having been overheard, and dropped the charm so that it nestled back between her flushed breasts.  "Nothing," she hastened to say.

"Not nothin'.  You said something about being broken.  Now unless I've gone completely 'round the bend, I haven't missed any stray blasts of magic aimed our way, which means you're fussin' about something else."

"It's just…"  Buffy's flush deepened, and she edged her way away from the street and the people who were passing by, dropping her voice at the same time.  "I guess I kind of, sort of thought that, _maybe_ it would go all…beacon-y or something."  The last few words were rushed out, like she was embarrassed to admit it, and she was rewarded with Spike's quick laughter.

"The thing's not a soddin' homing pigeon," he said.  "Though wouldn't surprise me if it doesn't have a bird part or two wrapped up inside that skin."

Instantly, Buffy's nose wrinkled, and the fingers that had been reaching for the gris gris shot as far away from it as possible.  "Ewww!" she exclaimed.  "Please tell me that's some kind of sick vampire joke."  At his lack of a response, she tried, hopeful, "An English one, then?"

Spike shrugged.  "It's probably just the crunchy bits.  They make for the most power when it comes to vodou."

"So basically, you're telling me I'm accessorizing with roadkill here?  I am suddenly not so much in a hurry to find our mysterious lady any more."

The heat from her body…the roaring of her blood through her veins…the frustration of having just watched her flirt with every other male on the street except for him…and suddenly Spike was no longer in the mood to be looking for the gris gris needle in the haystack.  Answers.  That's what he wanted.  And he wanted them from Buffy.

His eyes swept the length of the road, scanning the various establishments, before reaching forward to grab the Slayer's hand.  "C'mon," he said, pulling her across the street.

He felt her muscles tighten, readying to yank herself away, but after the first few seconds, Spike was surprised when her fingers shyly coiled through his instead.  "Where are we going?" Buffy asked.

"Takin' a little break," was his reply.

*************

At least it's not another demon bar, Buffy thought as she stepped past the bouncer, into the dimly lit interior.  It could've been the Bronze, just picked up off the Hellmouth and plonked down into the middle of the Big Easy.  That made walking in almost a balm to her frazzled nerves.

A band, playing songs she didn't recognize but didn't actually sound like animals being strangled, was situated at the front of the room, with a small dance floor before it, a smattering of tables dotting the remaining interior.  Along the walls, intimate booths with high backs and velvet seats offered a little more privacy for those who were seeking it, and it was there that Spike pulled her, aiming for one in the corner with a good view of the rest of the club.

"What's this all about?" she asked, as he came to a stop before the booth.  "We're supposed to be---."

"You're hot, I'm hungry, and if we haven't found her yet, luv, I'm not so certain we will without a little help from our witch friend."  He let go of her hand and gave her a little push toward the bench.  "Have a seat.  I'm goin' to get us some drinks and see what they've got to eat in this place."

Sliding across the velvet, Buffy watched as he turned away from her, exposing the burned side of his face to her for the fullest inspection she'd had since they'd left the hotel.  It was definitely looking better, she thought.  No more oozing.  Bright patches of fresh skin shining through the worst of the fading injuries.  He even seemed to be moving easier, like it didn't even hurt any more.  A far cry from just that morning.  

The relief it created in her surprised the Slayer, and she couldn't help the small smile that curved her lips.  "Spike," she said softly, reaching forward to touch the edge of his coat as it brushed against the table.

The look he shot back at her was curious, his brows knitted together.  "Yeah?" he asked, blue eyes sweeping over her face.

The words failed her.  How could she tell him why she'd stopped him when she didn't know herself?  That none of this made sense to her?  That imagining her life without him in it, without him by her side, left a barren crater somewhere in the middle of her soul, as if someone had sucked an entire world out of existence?  He'd laugh her into next Tuesday if she started spouting off things like that.  No matter that they were true.  No matter that the urge to just pull him down on top of her and kiss every inch of his porcelain skin made her want to scream from suppressing.  He'd laugh.  That's what the Big Bad did.

"Just get me water," she said instead, keeping her tone neutral.  "We've been tapping way too deep into Giles' resources on this whole highway to hell trip as it is.  We should really start being masters of the penny watching."

His eyes narrowed imperceptibly, his head tilting as he regarded her.  After a quick glance back at the bar, Spike said, "Tell you what, Summers.  If I get the drinks and grub on the house, you eat it up like a good little Slayer.  Otherwise, it'll be just the water and then we'll hit the streets until we find her, all right?"

It was her turn to frown.  "How are you going to get the stuff for free?" Buffy asked suspiciously.

The smile he shot her was blinding.  "Thought you trusted me, pet," he drawled, and with a smirk in his eyes, he sauntered over to the bar.

Twisting in her seat, Buffy watched Spike as he walked away---no, make that swaggered, she amended with a wry grin---but when she spotted the rather homely girl behind the counter he was aimed at, her mirth immediately vanished.  Her mood plummeted even more when she saw the brilliant smile light up the bartender's face as he leaned across the bar to her, her laughter telling the Slayer more about what was happening on the other side of the club than if she'd actually heard the words.

He's flirting with her! she thought, and though she'd cooled slightly when coming into the air-conditioning, the flush immediately returned to her skin, the unexpected ire roiling in her stomach.  He's got the nerve to try and charm his way into freebies right in front of me?  When she saw him reach forward, slim fingers skating along the inside of the bartender's bare wrist, Buffy was on her feet before she'd even realized it, determinedly marching toward the bar.

_He may be a big ol' flirt, but he's my big ol' flirt._

The bartender had just turned away to pull a draft of some kind of beer the Slayer didn't recognize when Buffy slipped her arm through his, nestling herself against the side of Spike's lean body.  Ignoring the startled look that knifed through his gaze, she turned on her biggest and brightest smile.

"So, do they have onions here?" she asked, just a little too loudly.

The bartender looked back then, eyes darting from the new arrival to Spike in curiosity.  Buffy leaned forward conspiratorially.  "He _loves_ those stupid things but you _really_ don't want to know what they do to his breath."  Rolling her eyes dramatically, she was rewarded with a quick, painless yank on her arm as the vampire tugged her back against him.

"You want lemon in that Coke?" the bartender asked Spike coolly, all signs of her pleasure from the flirting now gone.

"Did he order me a Coke _again_?" the Slayer pouted.  "Can you change that to an ice water, please?  Honestly, you'd think after all this time---."  Another yank, this one harder, and she was silenced, watching in growing amusement as the other girl finished pouring the drinks.

"That'll be fifteen even."

Tossing a few bills onto the counter, Spike grabbed Buffy's elbow and began pulling her away, not even hesitating when she reached awkwardly for her water still sitting on the bar.  When they were back at the table, she exploded.

"What the hell was that all about back there?" she demanded, sliding into her seat.

His face was closed as he slid in after her.  "What was what?" he asked obliquely. 

"You were flirting with her!"  Her voice was hard now, all outward signs of amusement gone.  What had happened to everything they'd said?  All those words in the shower, the touching?  Maybe it all really was just a game to him.

"Well, yeah.  How else did you expect me to get it on the house?"

"You were flirting with her _in front of me_."

He leaned forward, a glint in his eyes.  "Don't tell me you're jealous."

"Don't be stupid."  She spat the words out, too quick, too sharp, and inwardly Buffy groaned.  Way to go for playing it cool, she thought.  Awkward much?

"Funny, I thought it was rather smart.  And you do know that that's twice now you've tried tellin' me that, right?"  His voice dropped, his hand reached across the distance to begin tracing the veins on the back of hers.  "You pulled this same trick with Iris, remember?  I didn't buy it then, either."

"You want to act ridiculous, be my guest."

"Just thought I'd join the club, pet."

His fingers were still stroking her hand, soothing her even as his words riled her up.  "What?" she asked, confused.  "There's a club?  Did those burns go through to your brain?"

"I didn't do anything different back there than you did out on the street, Buffy.  Used a bit of the natural charm to get what I wanted, is all.  'Course, I don't have the advantage of being able to be practically naked in public in order to distract the other sex into helping me, but still, I don't seem to have many problems gettin' their attention---."

She flushed with awareness.  He'd done it deliberately.  Just because she'd been friendly to some of the guys outside while she was trying to find the gris gris woman, Spike thought he could…

Wait.  He was the jealous one here.  She hadn't done anything wrong.  Even when it had been apparent guys were interested, she'd always come back to Spike when she knew they couldn't help her.  Surely, he realized that?  But then, obviously he hadn't or he wouldn't be acting like this.

Slowly, Buffy pulled her hand away, averting her eyes to focus on her drink.  "I'm not even going to dignify that with a response, Spike.  You _know_ I'm worried about Willow.  All I'm trying to do here---."

"What am I to you, Buffy?"

Too much was swirling around in her head, and she knew that one glance at him would betray more than she was willing to share at the moment.  Not going to look, she droned silently.  Not going to look.  Don't see those incredible blue eyes staring at you.  He'll be able to tell what you're thinking the second he sees you.  Look at the water instead.  Watch the disco lights go through the glass.  Ooo, pretty.  

"You're Spike," Buffy said casually.  That was good.  That was…indifferent.  Pleased with how well she was handling this, she reached for the drink.

Spike's hand shot out, palm covering the mouth of the glass before she had a chance to pick it up.  "I didn't ask _who_ I am," he said.  "I asked _what_ I am.  To you."

Every pulsation of her heart beneath her ribs seemed to echo in Buffy's ears.  Sometimes, this directness was infuriating, this ability of his to cut to the bone of the matter and make her confront what she didn't want to.  Sometimes, it made her want to smash his face in out of sheer stubbornness, to mar the perfection of those cheekbones and make him feel just a little of the disquiet that she did, even if it was only through pain.  And then there were others, more dangerous times, where she felt like the fly caught in the spider's web, forced to face the enemy head-on.

As she sat silent, she watched as his fingers curled, two lean digits dipping into her water to slowly extract a single ice cube.  "You're not answering me," Spike murmured.  His voice was nearer, his body only inches from hers---_when did he get so damn close?_---and she could feel the cool air from his words tingle below her ear.

"Is this just a game?"

She hadn't moved.  She'd only watched as his hand fell away, feeling the weight of his arm shift the back of the cushion as he practically whispered in her ear.  The second the ice touched the back of her neck, Buffy stopped breathing in an audible gasp, holding it in as Spike ran the cube down the valley from the base of her skull to the top of her spine, dripping and freezing and cooling and heating all at the same time as warming rivulets managed to sneak away to join the drying perspiration on her back.

Goosebumps erupted along her arms, and she finally exhaled in a ragged sigh, her jaw dropping as her lids seemed impossibly heavy.  How could he know?  How did he always seem to know?

"Are you just playing?" he continued.  "Or am I more of a…diversion…"

The ice sinuated in lazy coils along her shoulder, tracing the strap of her halter.  The marble of his skin became visible as Spike allowed it to almost freefall along the fabric, arching along the curve of her breast, before taking control of it again with those nimble fingers.  Sliding it beneath the top, he found the already hardened nub of her nipple with the cube, tracing the aureola without letting his own fingers stray.

Buffy licked her lips.  She was suddenly parched, and more than anything, she wanted to take his hand from her flesh to suck on the water dripping from it, sating the growing thirst gnawing inside her gut.  It would be temporary, she knew.  The need would soon return, hungrier, angrier, demanding sustenance which for some reason only Spike could provide.  And she wouldn't know exactly what to do then.

Just tell him, her mind raged.  Tell him what he wants and get it over with.

Before she could open her mouth, though, he was moving again, back over her clothing, the ice cube that was now almost completely melted away by the heat of her skin gliding over her stomach toward her waistband.

"Or is it something more…"  Spike taunted.  On the "more," his fingers disappeared down her shorts, inside her underwear to brush against the coarse curls, forcing their way down to press the remainder of the ice against her clit.

She bucked then, unable to withhold her body's response, agony and pleasure and needles of delight shooting into her pelvis as her fingers gripped the edge of the table, her eyes squeezed shut.  

His hand withdrew, leaving the cold behind, and it took more than a few minutes of ragged gasping and concentration for Buffy to regain control of the nerves that were racing out of control.  The silent order to breathe---_in…and out…and in…and, oh fuck_---was only being half-obeyed, every other attempt vanishing with the rational thought that accompanied it.  Never before, and she wondered if ever again, had someone made her feel like this, known what buttons to push to set her going.  Like she was some classic car that required specialist training.  And Spike was the only specialist on hand.  And what a hand it was…

When she finally felt strong enough, Buffy opened her eyes, turning her head to see him watching her.  He was waiting.  Still waiting.

"How can you even ask that?" she rasped, and everything---the questioning, the desire, the need, the emotion---shone in the green of her eyes as she stared at him in amazement.  "How can you not know?"

He paused.  "I need to hear you say the words, Buffy," Spike said slowly.

Shadowed in the corner of the club, his eyes were dark, all signs of playing gone from them as he waited for her to answer.  Words?  He wanted words?  She wasn't word girl.  Willow was word girl.  Buffy was action girl.  She _did_ things.  She didn't _say_ things.  Would she even know _what_ to say?

"I don't play games," she said.  "I'm not Parker.  Although I'm beginning to wonder if maybe you are."

The smallest of flinches at the corners of his eyes, a slight flaring of his nostrils, but Spike's voice remained calm.  "I'm still not hearing the words," he murmured.  "And I'm not.  Parker, that is."

He wasn't running.  He wasn't mocking her.  And he'd been as hurt by what he'd seen as her flirting as she was by his.  Time to stand up and smell the roses, Buffy, she thought.

"All of this," she started, her voice a little more calm, a little more even.  "Looking for a way to get more of these…"  Her fingers picked up the gris gris from where it hung around her neck.  "…this is all because I am sick, and tired, of watching people I care about get hurt."  It fell from her hand as she reached toward him, trembling as she ran her touch along the ridge of his brow, feeling the ache of the corrugated burn as if it was her own.  "I'm so sorry you got this after…after everything."

Slightly, Spike's head tilted into her caress, but his gaze remained enigmatic.  "I'll be right as rain soon enough," he said.  "That little healing spell had quite a kick.  And don't be thinking I'll let that bitch get another shot at me.  Not with the witches needin' me like they do."

"_I_ need you, Spike."

"For the fight."

"For…you."  Please understand, Spike, she begged silently.  I'm so not good at this part.  "We…just found…this…whatever it is.  I'm not ready to lose it.  Not when I want…more."

Her breath hitched when his fingers caught hers, pressing her palm to his lips.  "See, pet?" he murmured, and his other hand reached up to brush the hair from her face.  "Not so hard."

"Actually, I've faced a few apocalypses that were easier," Buffy joked, smiling as the tension began to unfurl from her limbs.  He wasn't laughing.  He was sitting there, staring at her, not running, not making fun of her, and she was still in one piece and the world hadn't fallen apart around her and… "So…what…is this?  We're…?"

"…eating," Spike finished for her as the waiter came up with the blooming onion they'd ordered.  "And then we're goin' to give the Quarter another sweep for our gris gris bird---."

Buffy's nose wrinkled.  "Can you not mention bird and gris gris in the same sentence?" she asked.  "I'm trying to live in a state of denial here."

He snickered.  "And then," he continued, as if she hadn't spoken, pulling a petal from the blossom, "I plan on gettin' you back to the hotel and showing you just how much healing I've actually done."  The last was said with a smirk, which brought a flush to Buffy's skin.

"Sounds like a plan," she agreed, and made a grab for her share of the onion.

*************

She'd said it.  Well, she'd almost said it.  He couldn't really expect much more, knowing the Slayer like he did.  Didn't matter, though.  It was enough.

Joy bubbled beneath his skin, putting an even greater swagger in his step as he pushed open the back door to the club and edged into the alley.  Have a smoke, get back on the streets, get back to the hotel, and spend the next twelve hours in bed with Buffy.  The perfect plan.  His earlier doubts were now forgotten, overshadowed by the unmistakable emotion he'd seen in her eyes, that knowing smile he'd seen thrown in everyone else's direction but his prior to this trip to New Orleans.  Nothing could darken his current mood, he decided.  He might even let Harris get in a few gibes without having a go at him in response.  Let the boy have his fun for a few minutes.

Then again, maybe not.

Inhaling deeply, Spike caught the dark shadows of two young men, reeking of alcohol, come staggering into the alley.     

"Dude!" the smaller said as he pitched toward the vampire.  "Got a light?  And a cigarette?"

He was punched in the shoulder by his friend.  "Asshole.  Of course he does.  He's smoking, isn't he?"

Spike's scarred eyebrow quirked.  He'd traveled all the way across the country to be called "dude?"  A quick sniff confirmed that they were human, and he affected his best badass attitude.  "Piss off," he said.  "Unless you're lookin' for a spot of trouble."  He didn't mean it, of course.  The chip saw to that.  But no reason he had to share with two prats like this.

"Well, that's not very friendly," the smaller guy said, and before Spike could react, he'd launched himself toward the vampire.

His reaction was instinctual.  Ducking, Spike felt the man fly over him, crashing into the brick wall of the club.  When his friend's fist shot out, the blond deflected it with a lift of his forearm, pushing back with more force than he realized.  He heard the bones crunch, and rolled out of the way, tossing his cigarette aside as he watched the two men writhe around on the ground.

"Next time, try sayin' please," he drawled, and turned to go back into the club.

It was only because of his vampiric hearing that he heard the words of the man who'd tried to punch him.  "Oh, man, I think the motherfucker broke my arm!  God damn it hurts!"

Serves the git right, Spike thought as he pulled open the door.  Think they can just roll me over because I won't share my… 

He stopped, frowning as the metal clanged shut behind him.  Wait.  _Hurts_?  Quickly, Spike replayed the incident in his head and reached a tentative finger to his temple.

No pain.

Not a single jolt from the chip.

What the bloody hell was going on?

*************

Xander's heart was pounding as he bolted for the car in the street, his eyes stricken as he hammered at the driver's side window.

"What is it?" Giles asked as he rolled down the glass.

"Anya," he said, breathless.  "Anya.  Tell me you've seen her in the last two minutes."

The Watcher shook his head, then glanced over at Tara to see her corresponding shake.  "What's happened?  Don't tell me you left Anya by herself."

"For the record, she left me, and I only looked away from her for a minute when I saw Will---."

"You saw W-w-willow?"

"Did you speak to her?" Giles asked.  "Did she approach you?"

"Yes, no, and no.  It was a mirror thing.  I tried to go talk to her, but---."

"And now you can't find Anya."  He pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking for a moment, before pushing open his door.

Xander followed him around to the trunk.  "What're you doing?"

"Tara and I are going to do a sweep around the club while you check once more inside, and if we don't find Anya, we're getting back in the car and going back to our hotel to wait for Buffy and Spike."  Tucking a crossbow under his arm, he handed a stake to Tara, who had joined him on the other side.

"Wait.  We don't find her and we run?"  Xander was incredulous.  "Are you kidding me?  I'm not leaving Anya behind here."

Giles slammed the trunk shut.  "If we don't find Anya, we have to assume Iris and Sandrine have her."

"But why?  How do they know who she is?"

"Were you paying _any_ attention this morning when Buffy was telling us about Willow being Sandrine now?  She recognized Buffy.  Most likely, she recognized Anya as well."

"And if Anya was right about this being about the voix mortelle…"  Tara looked up at the Englishman with wide eyes.  "We probably sh-sh-should've thought of that before we did this."

"Oh, dear Lord."

"Thought of what?  What should we have thought of?"  His voice was rising in volume, his worry etched across his brow.

Giles sighed.  "The fact that if Sandrine is truly after the voix mortelle, Anya is the only person in this world who knows where half of it is."

*************

Sandrine pointed to the couch.  "Put her there."  With a satisfied quirk of her lips, she watched as Tom laid Anya's unconscious form along the sofa's length before straightening and edging toward the door, dropping her purse that he'd had dangling from his wrist on the chair near it.

"I don't know how long she'll be out," he said.  "I hit her kind of hard."

"That's OK," Sandrine replied, dismissing him with a wave of her hand.  "You can go now."

When they were alone again, Iris frowned.  "Why are you waiting?" she demanded.  "Wake her up and find out where it is."

The redhead scowled in the vampire's direction.  "For someone who _looks_ like she should have some finesse, you sure don't act like it," she said.  "There's something new and exciting you might want to try out.  It's called patience."  Curling herself into a chair, the folds of her black dress fell around the slit in the skirt, exposing the length of her legs as she began to pick at her nails.  Her green eyes settled back on Anya, and her mouth became grim.  "Something tells me my old enemy just might be a little stubborn about sharing…"

To be continued in Chapter 25: Aura…


	25. Aura

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.  And the chapter titles are courtesy of Miles Davis.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Sandrine has snatched Anya, while an altercation in an alley has led Spike to wonder what exactly happened to his chip…

*************

He saw her before she saw him, standing in the doorway waiting for him, watching the people on the dance floor as her own body swayed gently to the music.  All thoughts of what had happened in the alley vanished as Spike paused, slipping into the shadow of the wall so that he could watch her undetected, blending into the darkness even as his skin and hair glowed from the ambient light.

She wanted more.  This sylph-like creature, rooted with a transient footing in both his world and hers, wanted _him_.  _Needed_ him.  Her words.  Not his.  All he'd asked was that she vocalize them.  He never demanded that she place such labels on it; he'd only grown tired of the uncertainty of the whole thing and needed the definitive word from the Slayer on what just exactly was going on between them.

If she'd said it was just about the sex, that would've been fine.  Easier, even.  Especially considering the ramifications of what a more serious relationship would mean to her friends.  Briefly, Spike wondered if she'd thought about that yet.  For some reason, he wasn't sure Rupert would be that upset.  Not thrilled, most definitely, but how many times had the vamp had to listen to that higher purpose lecture over the past few months?  The Watcher believed that he could be a fit within their dynamic, and for once, Spike was beginning to believe him.  A fit orchestrated by his relationship with Buffy.

Secretly, though, or honestly depending on how he looked at it, he was glad she wanted more.  Not for what seemed an eternity had his world made as much sense as it did when she was in it.  Grounding him.  Giving him direction.  Purpose, even.  Light into the darkness, if he wanted to wax all bleedin' poetic about it.  His own feelings were a jumble, so he could only imagine what was going on through her head, but the possibility that he could love this stubborn, beautiful, infuriating, powerful woman loomed large on the horizon, and for once, he didn't shy from what it offered.

Love the Slayer.

Yeah.  He could do that.

Hell, he was mostly there already.

He saw her gaze shift then, turning to look directly at him, and she smiled, giving him a little gesture with a toss of her head, indicating for him to come out of the shadows and join her at the door.  Automatically, Spike's feet moved and the irony of his earlier thoughts did not go unforgotten.

Not ready to be at her beck and call, eh, mate? he thought as he sauntered to her side, his duster swirling gently around his legs.  She didn't even have to say the words this time and you were right there.  So much for that so-called self-esteem you were so bound and determined to hold on to.

"I just remembered this little store I walked by," she said as he approached.  "I'm pretty sure it was near where I got the gris gris."  Her body tensed to turn, but something she saw in his face made her hesitate, a thin line appearing between her brows as the corner of her mouth lifted in confusion.  "What?" she asked.

He couldn't help the hand that came up to cup her face, or the way his thumb stroked the arch of her cheekbone.  "You're so beautiful," he murmured, not caring how poncy he sounded.  Before she could respond, his head had lowered, his lips lightly brushing across hers, but even that most gentle of caresses sent a charge over his skin, igniting the pit inside him, driving his other hand to slide up over her ribcage.  His hand cupped her breast, and he could feel the hard bud of her nipple poking through the thin fabric, felt the heat rolling off her as his own skin soaked it up like a sponge.

Against his mouth, Buffy moaned, encouraging him to deepen the kiss.  When he tried though, Spike was surprised by her pulling away, and looked up to see the concern mired in the green.  "What?" it was his turn to ask.

Her fingers came up and trailed over the healing burns on his face.  "I'm worried about hurting you," she said.

Spike smirked.  "You couldn't have had that thought before you dropped an organ on my back?"

Her jaw dropped in surprise, and she pushed him away in mock-protest, taking care to avoid the burned side of his body.  "That was more than two years ago, you jerk.  And if you care to remember, you kind of had it coming.  "

As she began to flounce away, Spike laughed and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her back against him.  "Love seein' you like this," he said, nuzzling his face into her hair before drawing his lips down the side of her neck.  "All fire and perky self-righteousness---."

"Hey!"

"---and glowing from havin' just been kissed makes a vamp go all a-quiver," he finished, his voice muffled as his blunt teeth caught the lobe of her ear and tugged playfully.  He pressed his erection into her the curve of her ass, chuckling when he felt her heartbeat accelerate in response.  "But nothin' warms these old cockles more than knowing you're concerned for my welfare."

He couldn't see her face, but Buffy smiled anyway.  "Since when do cockles get hard when they're heated?" she teased and slipped a hand behind her, between their bodies, to rub the length of his cock.

Spike growled at the touch.  "You do know those bloody burns stop from the waist down, right?" he said into her skin.  "We could forego that second sweep and just head on back to the hotel, you know."  Her sigh within his arms, accompanied by the disappearance of her hand, told him her answer.  Not that it wasn't what he was expecting.  Buffy wouldn't want to give up until all her options were exhausted.  And if it took another look around the Quarter to do it, she would.

"There's an ice machine at the hotel, right?" she asked lightly, grabbing to take his hand in hers even as she pulled away and headed through the entrance.  The look she shot him over her shoulder was sly.  "Maybe we can---."

She was cut short by the looming figure of a large black man suddenly appearing before her on the sidewalk.  "I have been waiting," he said.

"That right?" Spike said, head tilting as his blue eyes swept up and down the dark figure.  Bulging with muscles, bald as an eagle, with flashes of gold in his teeth to match the earring in his left ear.

And a pulse.

Damn.  The bloke was human.

"You have been searching for the Old One, have you not?"       The man's black gaze settled on the hollow between Buffy's breasts.  "You wear her charm, so I know you are the one."

Buffy and Spike exchanged a look, both frowning at the odd words.  "I've been looking for someone---," she said.

"The Old One," he interrupted.

"She wasn't really that old."

He smiled.  "I refer to her soul, not her flesh."

"Oh."  The Slayer's fingers strayed to the gris gris.  "How'd you know we were looking for her?"

"The inquiries of she who is Chosen and her vampire companion have been heard.  I've been sent to fetch you."

"Guess stopping all those people paid off," Buffy said, glancing up at Spike.  "Bet you're feeling bad about giving me a hard time about it now, aren't you?"

He rolled his eyes in response.  "Not bloody likely," he said.  "Just remember how you felt when I was chattin' up that bartender."  He shoved his hands into his duster, staring at the man before them.  "Where is it you think you're takin' us?"

For the first time, the black man looked confused.  "I have said.  To the Old One."

"Got that.  Meant the actual _where_, Mr. Clean.  As in _location_?  Don't really fancy takin' a trip halfway across the city just to scratch an itch about gettin' my own gris gris if I don't have to."

"Oh."  The man turned, pointing down the street.  "She waits at the store.  Two blocks down."

Buffy's playful slap of his arm caused Spike to wince as a stab of pain from his injury shot down his side.  "I knew we were close," she said, suddenly excited.  

"No, you knew we were lost," he countered, and just shook his head as he watched her fall quickly into step with their guide.  Not that he was bothered by this sudden turn of events.  Even if Spike couldn't really do anything if things turned, Buffy could certainly hold her own with Tall, Dark, and Dangerous, and getting the charms on order now just meant getting the Slayer back to their new hotel room all that much quicker.

He grinned as he followed after the pair.  He'd show her that his little tricks back in the club were only the tip of the iceberg.

*************

The realization that they'd actually passed the tiny hole-in-the-wall shop at least twice in their sojourns through the French Quarter did not go unnoticed by Spike, but he held his tongue as they crossed the threshold, noting the touristy displays near the front of the shop segueing into the more eclectic as they penetrated the bowels of the building.  The air practically crackled with magic; it wouldn't surprise the vampire if there was some type of spell on the place warding it from notice from unwanted visitors.  Buffy probably would never have been able to find it without some sort of outside aid.

They were led up a narrow stairwell, and their guide stopped at the top, knocking at the door that was there.  Muffled footsteps came from within, and it was quickly opened, revealing the fleshy outline of a very large black woman.  She wore a brightly colored sleeveless dress, as well as a bright smile, and Spike felt a quirk of amusement tug at his lips.  Someone who obviously had no qualms being comfortable with herself, he thought.

"Certainly took you long enough," the woman said, stepping aside to allow the group entrance.

"And hello to you, too," Buffy said as she slipped past her.

Slowly, Spike climbed the remaining steps, but hesitated at the uppermost, feeling the natural boundary holding him back.  Inside the apartment, Buffy glanced back once she realized he was no longer behind her, and he just shrugged, leaning against the jamb.

"Got no problems watchin' from here," he said.  "Not like I'm much use against this kind of mojo anyway."

The woman's eyes narrowed slightly as she met the vampire's blue ones, probing even as her smile never dimmed.  "You're Spike," she said slowly, and her gaze slid to the burns on his face before following the path down the wounded side of his body, as if she could see the injuries beneath his clothing.  

Inadvertently, Spike stiffened under her scrutiny, feeling her eyes like a physical caress.    Now he understood why the Slayer had wigged out like she had.  The sway of the black woman's magic rippled in the air between them, reaching out to search…something.  

No.  Not something.  

Him.

A flash of fear behind his eyes---_what would she find?  Would he come up short?_---left him feeling angrier than he expected, and he assumed his best Big Bad pose in an attempt to cut her investigations short.  

It didn't change a thing, though.  Her black gaze remained amused, rapidly assessing him as it swept up and down, finally returning to the burns on his face.  She shook her head wryly.  "That wasn't the kind of red I was talking about, darlin'."

He frowned, shooting Buffy a curious look before turning back to their hostess.  "Sorry to disappoint.  Don't s'pose you'd mind sharing what kind of red you had in mind then?"

Her laughter filled the stairwell.  "Well, now that wouldn't be much fun, now would it?" she boomed.  "Now, get your skinny ass in here.  I don't feel like standing here all night with all my bits hanging out."

"Um, he has to be---."

She cut Buffy off with a wave of her hand.  "I know he's a vampire, child.  I wasn't finished.  Consider yourself invited into my home, Spike."

Tentatively, he straightened and stepped over the threshold, thumbs hooked into the waistband of his jeans as he came to a stop just inside the room.  It was just as bright as she was.  Garish throws of every hue covered the broken-down couch, while a huge mural was painted directly onto the walls around him, pictures of small brown children playing in a huge field making him feel very much like he'd suddenly stepped outdoors.  The bright green carpet didn't help to dispel the notion.

In the corner, an empty birdcage hanging from the ceiling swung silently in minuscule circles as if caught in some invisible breeze.  It didn't go unnoticed by Buffy, and Spike had to refrain from chuckling out loud when he saw her eyes widen, her hand automatically flying to the charm around her neck only to stop from actually touching it.  She's goin' to have bird nightmares for the next week, he thought in amusement.  

The woman motioned toward the sofa.  "Have a seat.  I've got some lemonade in the fridge if you're thirsty, although…"  She stopped, looking between the two blonds, but as she opened her mouth to speak again, she shook her head.  "Don't think anything I give you two is going to cool you down, now is it?"  She chuckled, waving again towards the furniture.  "Sit, sit.  I hate people who hover.  Vampires, too."

Awkwardly, Buffy tried positioning herself on the edge of the cushion only to fall back into its plushness, the broken springs failing to support her.  "We won't be here long," she rushed, trying to cover up her clumsiness.  "We wanted to talk to you about the gris gris."

"What's there to talk about?  It worked, didn't it?"

"Well, yeah, and thanks for that and everything, but---."

"What the Slayer's tryin' not so gracefully to ask," Spike interjected, perching himself on the arm of the couch, "is how do we go about gettin' our hands on some more."

"No!" Buffy argued.  "That's not it!"  But under the direct gazes of both the vampire and their hostess, she faltered.  "OK, so maybe that's partly it," she admitted.  "But I also want to know why you did it.  Who are you?  What do you have to do with Sandrine?"

"I'm nobody, but you can call me Clara.  And I only did it because I happen to like this little corner of the world we live in.  I'm not that interested in seeing…what did you say her name was?"

"Sandrine."

Clara shook her head.  "I kept getting tree imagery on her.  I don't know why."

"That's because the bitch is currently inhabiting my best friend's body.  Her name is Willow."

"Ah, Willow…"  There was a moment of silence as the woman seemed to digest this information.  "She won't be the one who weeps, though," she finally said thoughtfully, not really focused on her guests surrounding her.

The two blonds waited for her to continue, but instead sat in an awkward quiet for several minutes.  "Looks like you were right about her bein' all Delphian," Spike finally commented with a lift of his eyebrow.

"Huh?"  Buffy looked up at him in confusion.  

The small exchange brought Clara back from her thoughts, and she joined in Spike's flippant mood.  "I guess it's a good thing she's strong, huh?" she said to him conspiratorially.

"Hey!  Sitting right here!" the Slayer protested.  "And we found you, didn't we?"

"Actually, Peter here found _you_," Clara said, gesturing to the hulking figure of the bald man now leaning against the door.  "And I only sent him to fetch you because you were starting to attract the wrong sort of attention from all your questioning.  I like my privacy.  I thought it would be better this way."

"So…you saw all this happening?"  Buffy inched forward on the cushion, keeping her balance this time, her face serious as she scrutinized the large woman.  "You saw Sandrine and me coming to New Orleans?"

"There have been rumblings for some time now, darlin'.  Creatures coming from the shadows to try their hand at getting things that don't belong to them.  Stars screaming out their songs like tomorrow's not on the schedule.  Now usually, me and my kind don't bother getting involved.  These things always have a way of working out, one way or another.  Someone makes a mistake, or someone else steps up to the plate to put a stop to it.  The scales inevitably always get balanced.  But this time…"  Clara sighed, her lumbering frame shifting as she crossed the room to the window.

As she pulled aside the curtain, patterns from the moonlight filtered through the glass, and Spike frowned in contemplation as he saw the etchings along the top pane, symbols he didn't recognize now cast in silver on the carpet.  They were wards, he realized, but against what he had no idea.

"…this time," she was saying, "even the lwa are nervous.  They warned of Sandrine's return, and when signs indicated that the Vampire Slayer would be arriving, I chose to do what I could to help."  She glanced back to smile and wink at Buffy.  "You were very easy to lead to my store."

"So do you see how this is all going to turn out?"  Buffy's face was tight.  

Clara shook her head.  "There are many possible paths.  It…changes with the flow of time.  Auras shift as new developments arise."  Her black eyes settled on Spike.  "Choices are made when doors are opened.  No matter what, though, the blood will flow."

He flinched under her direct gaze, but said nothing.

"But you're still willing to help, right?" Buffy insisted, rising to her feet and stepping toward the other woman.  "That's why you gave me this gris gris.  You've got to be more powerful than Sandrine if this was able to protect me."

"I'm not more powerful, child.  I wish I was.  I'd take care of the little witch myself.  Problem is, it's not just her anymore.  She's gained allies.  The vampire Iris stands by her now."  She nodded toward Spike.  "Your intervention has introduced a new player that I did not see when I first offered my aid."

"Some kind of seer you are," Spike muttered.

She ignored his comment and turned back to the window, tracing the patterns on the glass with a thick finger.  "If the path that has been taken is completed, the serpent will rise again within a week's time.  It can be defeated, of course, but I'm sure I don't have to tell the Chosen One that life would be much simpler if it never got to that point."

"Stop the snake demon.  Got it."  She paused.  "Can you…my friend…I don't suppose you can tell me if she's all right."

"All right is relative," came the reply.  "She's still around, though, if that's what you're worried about.  It's the addition of her power that makes this Sandrine such a threat to the order of things.  The past belongs exactly there."

"But can we help her?  Can we get her back?"  Buffy's voice was rising, more insistent, but its inflection did nothing to ruffle the other woman in the room.

"Fell the tree and its roots remain.  Damaged, of course, but even life can spring from that which appears lost."  With a small nod toward Peter, Clara gestured toward the door.  "I have prepared another gris gris for you to use," she said.  "Go with Peter and he will get it for you.  My apologies that it is only the one.  My resources were limited.  I'm sorry it can't be more."

He opened the entrance, standing aside to indicate they should go out first.  For a moment, Buffy waited for the black woman to say something but when it became apparent she was done, she stepped toward the door.

Spike rose to follow, and it was then that Clara turned.  "I'd like to have a little chat with you, if you don't mind," she said to him.  When she witnessed the two blonds exchange a frown, she added, "This'll only take a minute.  Then you'll be free to go."  She waited until they were alone to speak again.  "You're going to have to tell her, you know.  It won't be good if she finds out some other way."

"Tell her what?"  His eyebrow lifted in a mocking arc.  "That you're a daft quack with a flare for the melodramatic?"  He didn't really believe it, but the penetrating ebony of her stare was unnerving and he willed himself not to fidget before her, lifting his chin to stare her down himself.

"I thought for a second when you showed up that you couldn't be the one I saw," Clara mused.  She began to circle where he stood, hands waving around him, as if they were sculpting the air that surrounded Spike.  "All those tiny blue shocks that had been there when I'd seen you all around her before were gone.  Those burning baby fish are no longer swimming, are they?  Just lying there dead, like they'd never even been."

Panic began to wriggle in a growing frenzy within his gut, but Spike remained still as she moved, watching her out of the corners of his eyes when she disappeared behind him.  "Can't you ever just speak plain?" he complained, but his voice was tight, his words clipped in barely controlled trepidation.  "Say what you mean, mean what you say.  It's a good credo.  You should consider takin' it up."

"You're impatient," she scolded as if to a child.  "Rash.  That'll be your downfall, darlin', if you allow it to be.  You'll hurt her when you don't want to."  She stopped in front of him, their eyes level.  "You could hurt her now if you chose."

_Hurt her_.

_It hurts_.

The rush of pushing back against the man in the alley.

The silence in his head afterward.

"The chip…" Spike murmured, as the pieces fell into place.  Horrible, wonderful, hopeful, damning pieces.  "It's not working."

Clara shook her head.  "Can't work if it's not there."

"But…how…when…?"  She said she'd seen it before, he realized.  Which meant some time since he and Buffy had arrived in the Big Easy, he had lost the chip.

"Time is not the only healer.  Sometimes, it wears the face of years gone by, even if we don't recognize it for what it truly is."  Her hand lifted, her fingers feathering over his brow, sliding down the worst of the burns on the left side of his face.  

"You knew…and you invited me into your home anyway?"  Through the maelstrom of his emotions, the question suggested itself in a rattled disbelief, voicing itself of its own accord, his blue eyes searching hers for some sign of fear.

There was none.  "Demons speak in satin tongues," Clara said obliquely.  "They make promises that man knows to be false and yet there is something seductive about their voices.  Something that makes man want to answer.  To follow the path they offer.  Some do.  Some don't.  But everyone has a choice."  She stepped away, turning her back on him to open the door of the apartment again.  "She's waiting for you, darlin'.  Don't want to disappoint her, now do we?"

She was smiling as Spike brushed by her, only half-aware of the reassuring pat on his back when he passed.  Too many thoughts, and fears, and hopes, and everything, swirling around inside his skull to be aware of much more.  He was halfway down the stairs when her voice drifted down to him again.

"And I was serious about that red," she called.  "Don't you be forgettin' that now."

*************

He slumped in the back seat, feeling the sway of the car as Giles turned the corner to pull into the parking lot of the hotel, but nothing about it was relaxing.  The seat was too empty, his side bereft of companionship, and Xander's heart ached in guilt.

It was his fault.  Though neither Tara nor Giles said anything, Xander knew that the blame for Anya's disappearance lay entirely in his hands.  All because he hadn't followed her.  He'd let her get away and now she really was…away.

A search of the surrounding area of Midnight had revealed nothing, and the trio had returned to the car knowing what they had suspected all along, that Sandrine and Iris had managed to snatch Anya right out from under their noses.  Giles especially was disappointed in his failure to recognize the ex-demon's potential contribution to the voix mortelle mess, and had stewed in his own silence during the trip back to the hotel, leaving Tara curled uncomfortably against her door, eyes furtively darting from the two men every so often just to see that they were all right.

Wordlessly, they climbed out of the car, shoulders slumped.  "I-I-I'll go see if Buffy's back," Tara said, but Giles voice' stopped her before she could turn away.

"The Desoto's not here," he said.  The parking lot was nearly empty; it would've been impossible to miss the behemoth vehicle even in the dark.  "I'll go to the front desk and leave a message for her."

"I'll just get the weapons upstairs," Xander offered.  Taking the keys from Giles, he was soon left alone as Tara traipsed after the Englishman, but as he turned to go to the trunk, his eye was caught by the glint off the phone lying forgotten in the front seat.  

They hadn't bothered to call her, he realized, stopping to stare at it.  After everything, they'd just forgotten about this potential lifeline.  She could just be hurt, or she could be trying to escape.  Maybe if he called, she could tell him where to come get her.

It was a long shot---OK, a nearly impossible shot---but desperation drove Xander to open the front door and reach for the phone.  It wouldn't hurt to just call, he rationalized.  And it could do a world of good.

*************

He was sprawled in the chair opposite the couch, head thrown back, not even watching the girl Sandrine and Iris had ordered him to keep an eye on.  Freddie actually felt sorry for her, getting dragged into this whole mess.  Not that he really knew what was going on with her, what she had to contribute to it.  Only that she was somehow connected to Willow's friends back in California.  She seemed familiar to him, but until Sandrine took it upon herself to fill him in on the details, he would just do what he was told and pray he didn't piss the redhead off too badly to want him dead as well.

At least he didn't have to put up with having them around at the moment.  He'd been called in earlier and ordered to watch the girl while they went out and had "some fun."  He didn't want to ask what kind of fun, and didn't even argue about the cadre of vampire guards they already had out in the hallway.  Just sat himself in the chair and waited for them to leave.  That Iris gave him the creeps.  Always watching him like he was dinner or something.

Which he probably would be if he ever screwed up.

The muffled ring of a telephone woke him from his reverie, and Freddie frowned as he sat up.  There wasn't a phone in this room.  Where the hell was it coming from?

Another ring, and his eyes slid to the doorway, noted the small purse on the chair near it.  The sound was coming from inside it, and he slowly rose from his seat to pick it up.  A third ring, growing louder as he undid the clasp.

"Everything all right in there?" the guard boomed from the other side of the door.

The voice startled Freddie, and his fingers fumbled to disconnect the call.  "Just fine and dandy," he called back.  Dropping the purse back onto the chair, he held the slim phone in his hand as his eyes slid back to the unconscious girl on the couch.  _Her_ phone.  Probably her friends calling to check up on her.

The thoughts ticked over in his brain, and slowly, Freddie slipped the phone into his pants pocket, feeling its weight settle heavily against his thigh.  "Just fine and dandy," he murmured, and resumed his watchful place on the chair.

To be continued in Chapter 26: Nothing Like You…


	26. Nothing Like You

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.  And the chapter titles are courtesy of Miles Davis.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Buffy and Spike have managed to get another gris gris while Clara the seer has confirmed for the vampire that he no longer has his chip, and Anya is being held captive by Sandrine and Iris…

*************

"You did _what_?"

Even Giles flinched beneath the bite in Buffy's tone, and the smirk rose to Spike's lips as he leaned against the hotel room wall, watching as the Slayer stood in front of the trio sitting on the bed with hands on her hips.  It was kind of nice being on this side of her tongue for a change, he decided, and in spite of the chaos that was currently in his own head, there was no way he wasn't going to take a moment to enjoy the irony of the show he was getting.  He'd spent too many days tied up at the hands of both men who now faced Buffy's wrath, but couldn't deny the twinge of guilt he felt at the cowed expression on Tara that was almost hidden behind her hair.

"I never---," Giles started, but clicked his jaw shut when she started again.

"Never…what?  Listened to me when I said how dangerous Sandrine was?  Or heard how much power Iris has in town?  Do I need to tell you the whole cops in her back pocket story again?"

"Buff, it was a group decision---."

"The group minus two, you mean," she countered to Xander's argument.  She gestured between herself and Spike.  "The two who've had, oh, I don't know, actual _contact_ with them?  You didn't think that just maybe, we might know what we were talking about when we said stay away from Midnight?"

"I seem to recall you mentioning your own little Midnight adventure," Xander said.  "Something involving some b?  Maybe a little e?"

"That was different."

"Oh, because you went alone.  Sorry.  My mistake.  Here we thought we'd have safety in numbers."  His voice dripped in sarcasm, and Spike watched as Buffy folded her arms across her chest in defiance.

"Obviously not if you managed to lose Anya in the process.  I forgot to ask.  Did you remember to bring the silver platter with you?  Or did we just decide to make Sandrine's job that much easier without handing your girlfriend over on one this time?"

"Buffy, that was never our intention."  Though he was striving to remain calm in the face of the arguing, it was a losing battle for Giles, his tone clipped and cold.

"No," she conceded.  "I know that.  I just don't understand why you would think you could take Sandrine and Iris on yourselves when you saw for your own eyes what she did to Spike last night."

"There wasn't going to be any taking," said Xander.  "Just looking.  Trust me, taking was never on the agenda."

"Was this the same agenda that the _group_ decided on?  You know, the one Spike and I seem to have lost our memberships to?" 

Brown eyes flicked to sweep with disdain over the lounging vampire.  "Since when is Spike part of the group?" he demanded.

"Since he's the one who came to us in the first place about Willow getting kidnapped.  Since he's the one who seems to be taking all the knocks trying to get her back."

Xander's harsh laughter rang through the small hotel room.  "Back?  Is that what's happening here?  That must be why she's currently being controlled by some psycho/ex-jambalaya vodou princess, right?  That's a real bang-up job Spikey-boy's doing there.  Remind me to add him to my Christmas card list."

 "Enough!"  The single word cut through the air as Giles bolted to his feet, causing even Spike to stiffen at the wall.  "All this bickering is accomplishing nothing.  This isn't about what's been done or not done in regards to rescuing Willow, nor is it about who did it.  This is about what we're going to do next."

As he listened to the Watcher, Spike's thoughts drifted, the blame that had circulated, even with Buffy's deflection, simmering his mood into anger.  Like they bloody understand a thing about what's goin' on here, he thought viciously, and he stuffed his hands into his pockets as they instinctively balled into fists.  Done what I can and what thanks do I get?  The usual kick to the curb.  A boot in the face with not so much as a "by your leave" to soften the blow.  And they're not even listening to their Slayer, when all she's done is everything in her power to make this right.  Unforgiving gits.

His nails dug into his palms, and he felt a faint trickle of something viscous as he realized how tightly he was fighting the urge to lash out at the two men.  Sudden flashes of _could test that chip theory on Harris' face_ combined with recalled smells of blood and sweat and the crunch of bones shattering beneath his blows, making his nostrils flare as his jaw clenched.

Too close.  Too bloody close in here.

The door was yanked open under his grip, already half-open, when Buffy realized he'd moved and cut herself off in mid-sentence, turning to look at him in confusion.  "Where are you going?" she asked.

"Feel like a smoke," he replied.  "I'll just be outside."

He didn't even wait for a response, just strode into the stifling night air with the heavy door gliding silently shut behind him.  The mechanics of the door cheated him of a satisfying slam, and Spike was tempted to turn around and kick the door for good measure, to let those inside know his frustration.  He refrained, though, choosing instead to last out at the metal rail that lined the walk along the second floor of the hotel.  Wouldn't do to get Buffy pissed off at him as well.  She needed at least one ally she could count on in this debacle.

The cigarette was lit and in his mouth before he could think, and he took a long, luxurious drag of the filter, feeling the nicotine blaze into his lungs, crisping its edges even as it dulled the skittering of his nerves.  Carefully, he tuned out the words that were being exchanged on the other side of the door; they would only serve to enrage him further.

He could've done it, Spike realized.  A few more seconds of listening to them go at Buffy and he would've lost it, pouncing and pounding and glorying in hurting them just a fraction of what they were doing to his Slayer.  It wouldn't have lasted, of course.  She would've pulled him off as soon as the first punch had landed, and then staked him when she realized that he'd done it without feeling the effects of the chip.

_You're going to have to tell her_, the seer had said.  _Won't be good if she finds out some other way_.

Because the Slayer is so good at separating her personal life from her professional, he thought derisively.  Wouldn't make a difference to her if she thought I hung the bloody moon.  She thinks I'm a threat, she'll stake me without blinking.  Hadn't she done the same with Peaches?  Ran a sword through him to save the world and he was supposed to be the love of her life.  All souled up and white hat-like.  What makes you so different?

_Don't be a threat_, was the obvious conclusion.  _Don't feed.  Don't kill.  Don't give her a reason to dust you.  Not like you haven't been living that life for the past nine months anyway_.  

But not by choice, he argued back.  Only because of this little piece of plastic inside my skull.  I've been denying what I am ever since they took my choice away.

_Choices are made when doors are opened.  No matter what, though, the blood will flow_.

Spike scowled as the seer's words haunted his ears, sucking at the cigarette with an angry inhalation.  Can't say what they bloody well mean, he groused, pacing along the cement, occasionally kicking at the dull gray with the toe of his boot.  Not even his years with Dru had made him like the cryptic gobbledygook that often sprouted from her mouth.  He'd often felt like taking her by the shoulders and shaking the words from her, hoping that she'd just say it straight instead of dancing around the issue.

Did the seer mean that the blood would flow because of him?  She'd known he was chipless when she let him into her flat; could that have been what she was referring to?  He wished he knew.  He wished he could just turn the decision over to someone else again because all of a sudden, not knowing which way to turn was giving him a bigger headache than those shocks ever did.

At least his thoughts from earlier made more sense now.  All that blood flowing around him, passing him on the streets, the imagery of Buffy's blood coursing down his throat…it was his body's way of telling him he could feed again.  Be what he truly was.  Stop toeing the leashed puppy line and return to his proper place in the demon world.

But did he have a proper place any more?  Truth be told, he liked being at the Slayer's side.  And he'd already decided that his feelings for her were real, a tangible lock on the light that he'd heretofore not realized he yearned for.  Was he ready to throw all that away?  

_Everyone has a choice_.

The door opened then, and Spike took one last drag of his cigarette as he watched Buffy emerge, stopping to lean wearily against the wall of the hotel.  That lasted only a second before she grimaced, wiping at the beads of sweat that already sprung to her brow.

"Yuck," she said, shaking out her arms as if they were stuck to her torso.  "I'm going to be so glad when we get out of this place.  Who would've thought that someplace called the Hellmouth wasn't the hottest place on earth?"

The grin tugged at his lips, and he ducked his head so that she wouldn't misconstrue his mirth, using the action to exhale the smoke from his lungs.  "Get everything all sorted?" he asked.  "Or do you need me to go in there and knock a few heads together?  Betcha didn't know the boy's head makes this frankly satisfying hollow sound when it hits the floor."

He played it as a joke, but warily watched for her response.  Test one for the waters, Spike thought.  How're you goin' to take it if I actually can follow through on that promise, luv?

Either she didn't hear it or she was choosing to ignore his comment, because Buffy only sighed, stepping to his side to lean against the railing and look out over the mostly empty parking lot.  "We're going to go out in the morning and look around in daylight.  See if we can scrounge up any clues as to what happened with Anya."  At his frown, she shook her head.  "Don't worry.  No more breaking and entering for this girl.  I'm not really up to having to deal with police again.  Although if Iris shows her fangs around there, I might rethink the breaking part of that.  For some reason, I've got a serious jones for hurting her in severe ways.  I'm thinking dismemberment might be kind of fun."

"What about me?  There a spot for me in that plan of yours that doesn't involve fiery death?"

Her gaze softened and she glanced up at the remaining burns on his face.  "You should be resting anyway," she said.  "Finish healing and I promise to take you out tomorrow night and kill some kind of nasty."

"Crumbs.  Thanks."  It came out more bitterly than he intended, but the reminder that he was only of use to her during the day, or that she thought that anyway, stung.

He saw the flicker of irritation in her face, but when she spoke, her words reflected none of that.  "Actually, I was kind of hoping you could help Tara with some magic stuff.  She's staying behind to try and figure out what exactly happened with Willow and Sandrine.  And how the staff thingy actually works.  If they do happen to get both pieces, we need to know what they plan on doing with it before we can stop them."

"Oh."  All he _could_ say, really.  One more conclusion he'd incorrectly jumped to.  How in hell was he supposed to know what to decide on telling her about the chip if he couldn't even read something as simple as her plans for him?

"What did that Clara tell you after I left?" Buffy asked.  She'd been dying to ask him ever since leaving the shop, but his aloofness and then the discovery of Anya's disappearance had prevented her from finding out before now.

Spike shrugged.  "Just a bit of warning," he said.  "Told me not to be rash or someone would end up gettin' hurt."  It wasn't really lying if he just didn't tell her the whole story.  Clara _had_ called him rash, and though she'd specified Buffy would be the one to get hurt, there was no reason for the Slayer to know that.  Not yet.

Her laugh surprised him.  "I could've told you that," she said lightly.  "Thinking things through isn't exactly your strong suit."

If only she knew, Spike thought.  If only she could see just how much bloody thinking he was doin' right then, Buffy might begin to realize that she wasn't as knowledgeable about him as she thought.

"Did you fill Rupert in on the other that she had to say?" he asked instead, deflecting the topic of conversation from himself.

"I told him you and I were going to sit down tonight and write out what she said so that he could look at it in the morning."  She stepped in front of him, letting her hand play with the hem of his t-shirt.  "You know, back in _our_ room."

"You told him that?"  His eyebrow shot up, incredulous.  "And he doesn't have a problem with…you and me?"

She couldn't quite meet his eyes, focusing instead on the line of skin playing with his shirt was affording her.  "OK, so maybe I didn't phrase it _exactly_ like that," she confessed.  "When the issue of sleeping arrangements came up, it became painfully obvious they meant for me and Tara to share now that Anya's not around because Xander and Giles were arguing about which one had to bunk with you.  So, I used Clara as an excuse and said it wasn't a problem making sure you stayed out of trouble since I'd been doing it since we left Sunnydale anyway."

"Gee, thanks, Slayer."

She misinterpreted his tone and stepped back.  "I'm going to tell them about us," she said.  "Just not when things are so…stressy."  Though she was smiling, Buffy couldn't help the feeling of unease creeping over her skin, and looked up at him quizzically.  "What's with being so bad moody?" she asked.  "I mean, I know things aren't great with this new development about Anya, but I thought, you know…things were better between us."

If he kept this up, it wouldn't make a difference if he told her or not; she'd suss it out on her own.  Enjoy what you got, mate, he thought.  Don't try fixin' what's not broke.

One hand snaked forward and curled around Buffy's waist, tugging her against him.  "Like that word," he murmured, and slid his grip around to settle in the small of her back, gently pressing her hips against him so that she could feel his rising arousal.

"And what word's that?"

"Us."  He saw her eyes flicker over his shoulder at the window and jerked his head toward their own room in response to her trepidation at a public display.  "Why don't we continue this conversation in private?" Spike said.

"Can we make a detour first?"

"For what?"

"You'll see."

*************

He was in the bathroom, ostensibly to take a look at his wounds and clean them up if necessary, leaving her to pull their things from the various bags.  The fact that the one that had held the evening gowns Spike had bought for her had already been rummaged through did not escape Buffy's attention, and she silently thanked the fashion gods that Anya had picked the black one to wear and not the green.  Kind of a superficial thought, she knew, considering Anya was now most likely being held hostage, but at least she was going to be a well-dressed hostage.  

 Her fingers fell to the ice bucket, sifting through the already-melting cubes, watching the tiny refractions trapped within their glacial walls scatter against the white plastic of the container.  At some point, they were actually going to have to do what she told Giles they were going to, but for now, Buffy just wanted to spend some time following through on the promises Spike had made during their search.  In spite of the shift in his mood after leaving Clara's, the touch of his hand in hers as they'd walked from Giles' room to theirs had dispelled any doubts she might've had, returning her to the fantasy land of just what else the vampire could do with those ice cubes.  Just the thought of his---.

"Buffy!"

Spike's voice cut through her reverie, and she automatically turned toward the bathroom, crossing the room in three steps only to pause as her hand hovered over the doorknob.  Silly, she scolded herself.  He wouldn't have called you if he didn't want you to come in.  Funny how nervous she felt about offending him all of a sudden.

She opened the door to see him standing at the sink, bare to the waist, hands braced on either side of the porcelain.  His head didn't even turn to see her enter; his gaze remained fixed on the drain below him.

"Do me a favor and tell me what my back looks like?" he said.  His voice was tight, and she noticed then how tautly the skin was pulled over his knuckles, whiter there than anywhere else she could see.  "I'd check it out myself, but seein' as I'm reflection-deficient…"

Buffy rushed forward.  "Why didn't you tell me it was hurting?" she demanded.  "If you've opened something up, I should get…"  Her words fell away as her eyes settled on the expanse of his back.

All the burns were gone.

Tentatively, she brushed a finger over the contour of his shoulder blades, marveling at the resilience of the skin stretched over the muscles.  Not a single mark.  Like his encounter with Sandrine had never even happened.  A slide around to the front of his body showed the same unblemished marble.  The only burns---if they could even really be called that any more---were on his face, scattered across his temple and cheekbone.  

Well, at least one thing is working for me, Buffy thought with more than a sense of awe.  Spike'll be back in the game tomorrow for sure, stronger and better than ever at this rate.

When her silence stretched into a minute, Spike let out a long sigh and loosened his hold, his shoulders falling to match the incline of his head.  "Guess that means it's all free and clear back there," he said.

"Gotta love that healing juice," Buffy replied.  "Remind me in the morning to promise Tara my firstborn child for doing this."  She took a step, expecting him to straighten, but frowned when he remained in his position.  "How do you feel?" she asked.  This should be good news.  She didn't understand why he wasn't happier about it.

His response was a long time coming.  "Hungry," he finally said, though his voice was so low that the lone word was almost imperceptible.

"Oh."  It wasn't what she was expecting.  "You want me to heat you something up?  I think there's a microwave---."

"Don't.  I'll be…fine."

He didn't sound fine.  He sounded upset.

No longer worried about hurting him, her hand wrapped around his bicep, forcing him to straighten and look at her.  "Enough with the avoiding," she said.  "Something bugged you at Clara's and I want to know what it is."

The gold glinting in the blue depths of his eyes took her by surprise, and she instinctively stiffened, relaxing her grip as she stepped back.  It didn't go unnoticed, and Spike's lip curled into a smirk.  "What's the matter, Slayer?" he taunted, and as she watched, switched into his game face.  "Don't tell me you forgot what I was there for a minute."

"No, it's just…"  She lifted her chin, refusing to bow beneath whatever had sparked this change in him.  "What's wrong?" she demanded.  "You only go ridge-y when you're angry."

"Wrong."

"What, you're _not_ angry?"

"It's not the only time."  With a sharp shake of his head, Spike's human features returned, but the tension in his jaw lingered.  No reason to tell her it happened when he felt like he was losing control as well.  Like now.  The damn hunger.  And her blood, pumping and rich and too damn close.

Brushing past her, he went out into the main room, ignoring her step right behind him, and stalked to where the cooler sat on the dresser, yanking it open and extracting a single blood bag.  A sharp bite at the plastic cut a hole in the top and Spike poured the liquid into one of the mugs they'd taken from the house.  He had it halfway to his lips when Buffy snatched it away from him, turning toward the microwave.

"At least let me heat it," she said.  "Why didn't you say something?  It's not like I'm expecting you not to eat in front of me.  I've seen it a million times."

He stood behind her, the pair of them watching the mug circle in endless revolutions inside the appliance, until the bell dinged and she pulled it out to hand to him.  "Thanks," he muttered, but was unable to meet her eyes as he gulped it down, feeling it course over his tongue, staving away the worst of the pangs even as it reminded him of what exactly he was missing.

It wasn't usually this bad.  It had to be because of knowing he actually _could_, that the absence of the chip made all those dreams and fantasies now possible.  Not that he wanted to, not in the truest sense of the word.  Putting his welfare ahead of Buffy's made him no better than those so-called friends of hers.  Ignoring what her contributions were, how hard she was trying.  

And she was.  Trying.  So hard.  Even now as she took the empty mug from his hands, disappearing into the bathroom to rinse it out like it was the most natural thing in the world.

How could he even consider doing anything that would spoil that?

He was stretched out on the bed when she came back into the room, staring up at the ceiling.  "We should probably talk," he said.

Fuck.  Why couldn't he just leave well enough alone?  The seer hadn't said _when_ he should tell her, just that he should.  Bringing it up now was like ripping off the scab of a barely healed wound.

She sat on the edge of the mattress, bare legs only inches from his side, and dropped a hand to rest gently on his shoulder.  "So talk."

He'd asked for it.  Now what in hell was he going to say?

"Something's tellin' me that my hasty return to my normally good-looking self isn't completely because of the mojo."  He fought to return to some semblance of snarky, lightening his tone and stabilizing his nerves.  The blood had helped, fending off his hunger so that he could focus on other things.  And the change in subject would work.  It was a genuine concern and didn't deal specifically with the issue of the chip.  Rolling onto his side, he propped his head up on his hand to look at her.  "Well, not our mojo, anyway."

His move broke their contact.  "What're you saying?  You think someone else is waving their magic wand around here?"

Spike shrugged.  "You got a better explanation for it?  We both know I was pretty bad off there.  And as chuffed as I get about my own prowess, even I know I can't heal that fast."

"But the healing spell---."

"---helped, I'm sure, but when have you ever seen one of the witch's spells work so well?"  When she didn't respond right away, he went on.  "Only thing I can think of is that it has something to do with my little visitor when you were out hotcaking."

"That Cecily?  You think she's a witch of some sort?"

He snorted.  "Bitch is more like it," he muttered.

"You said it wasn't possible it was her."

"It's not.  She's long dead by now.  Whoever came a-knockin' just decided to look like her.  That seer…she said something else when I was up there.  Something about healers wearing faces of years gone by.  I think she was talkin' about Cecily."

Buffy's eyes dropped then, and she began tracing the floral pattern in the bedspread, lost in thought.  "Who was this Cecily?" she finally asked, her voice low.

He didn't want to answer but something in the pit of his stomach pulled the words from his throat.  "Someone I used to know."

"Did you kill her?"

"No.  I…she was…"  What?  It had been so long since he'd actively thought of her.  How could he characterize her for Buffy without giving too much of himself away?  Because wouldn't that just be too embarrassing.  The Slayer getting involved with the ex-poet?  Not bloody likely.  "…someone I knew before I was turned.  Just a girl.  No one special."

"Special enough for you to remember her after a hundred and twenty years."

Damn.  She had a point.  "I thought…was a little hung up on her, I guess," he finally managed.  "But she wouldn't…she didn't…"

Buffy's gaze lifted then, green gleaming as she eased herself to lie down next to him.  "She was stupid, then, is what you're telling me," she said softly.  Her hand came up to touch his bare chest, a feather of air tickling his skin.  "So…whoever came knew they could get to you by posing as her," she mused.

"Yeah."  It didn't seem so important any more that they talk about his healing, or the chip, or its absence, or any of the other.  Not with her so near.  Not with every inch of him screaming in resonance with her heartbeat.  All he wanted was to hold her, and kiss her, and love her, until she was screaming in kind.  Fuck talking.

"And I think we can rule out Sandrine or Iris having anything to do with making you better," Buffy continued.  Her palm was creating whorls of sensation along his chest where it skipped and fluttered, seemingly oblivious to the effect it was having on him.  "They wanted you dead last night.  Well, they wanted both of us dead.  Something tells me they're not interested in helping you in any way."

"Yeah."  Rational thought was impossible, his fingers itching to curl into her flesh, to tug her on top of him, to rake along her skin until she burned as badly as he did.

"Which means we've got a third party involved," she concluded.  Her breathing was starting to go ragged, hitching just ever so slightly, and he watched her golden head duck, felt her tongue flick over his skin.  "Someone we don't know about."

"Seems that way."  His right hand clawed into his hair, rooting itself to his scalp, as he fought the instinct to grab her.  Only the agony of the anticipation of more stayed his touch.  "Can't imagine…who…"

Buffy lifted her head, and he saw the ebony of her pupils swallowing the iris, a flush of desire creeping high into her cheeks.  "Did you love her?" she asked.

It took him a moment to understand who she was talking about, and then another to realize she was holding her breath while he waited for him to answer.  "Didn't know what love was then," he replied.  "Not really."

"And now you do."

"A bloke learns a lot when he hangs around for a century."  He had to touch her then, couldn't resist the silk of her hair as he pushed it away from her face, exposing the arch of her cheek to his fingertips.  "And then sometimes, it just takes a second."

She was leaning forward then, and there was no way he was going to refuse the pout of her lips, capturing it between his teeth as his hand slid around the back of her neck.  Hot, and needing, and pulsing against his mouth, the intoxication of her taste eclipsed all other thoughts in his mind; only the craving of her, the necessity of having her, seemed to matter.

"Spike…" she breathed.

"What?"  

"The ice…"

"Sod the ice."  His lips pressed harder against hers, coaxing them to part so that he could fully savor her mouth, sucking and devouring until her fingers clawed at the healed skin of his back, urging him closer.  

"Just want this to be about us," he added when she finally broke away for air.  His arm curled around her waist, tugging her closer.  Never could be close enough, he realized, even as her pelvis found his, molding to him in exquisite agony.

His mouth nuzzled at her throat, every beat of her pulse maddening him further, sending the same tempo along the length of his body as it ached for more.  All the doubts, all the questions, all the confusion, fled in the face of her embrace, and though the scent of her blood permeated the membranes of her skin, it was only a fraction of the essence that was Buffy, a swirl of copper, sweat, and a unique musk eddying to drive him mad while at the same time simplifying what had seemed so difficult.

Chip.  No chip.  Didn't make a difference.

This was where he belonged.

He'd do whatever it took to keep it that way.

Her hands were tugging at his jeans, strong and nimble, and Spike growled as he pressed her back into the bed, catching her wrists and pinning them over her head.   Their eyes locked, and he hesitated as he searched the green depths.

"What?" Buffy asked.  "You're stopping.  Don't stop."  She wriggled beneath him, but didn't break his grip, not exerting even a fraction of the strength necessary to do so, he realized.

Letting his free hand slide between them, he deftly undid her shorts, slid his fingers inside her heat, smiling in satisfaction when she moaned at his touch.  "Say the words again, luv," he whispered.

She squirmed, the quivering in her thighs overwhelming.  The chill of his fingers was enticing, but it was the pressure of his body against hers, weighing her down into the mattress that prompted her to drive his hand back.  Without breaking his hold on her, she circled him in her arms in an action that stilled his strokes.

"I've never known anyone like you before," she said and saw the wonder creep into his eyes.  "I've never…" And she paused, the daring she'd just felt slipping from her grasp like liquid through her fingers.  Desperately, she swallowed, and braved it anyway.  "…never…loved anyone like you before," Buffy finished.

The light that flared in his gaze disappeared from her view when his head came down, his mouth returning to hers to claim back the kisses she'd stolen previously.  Their hands fell away, pulling and tugging at their clothing as they rushed to bare themselves, never breaking away from the succor of their kissing, even when they lay naked on the bedspread, her legs lifting to wrap around his lean hips.

Spike's hands settled on her waist as he waited, teasing her with the promise of more even as it tortured him with the wait.  So much more than he'd expected.  He'd only wanted her to admit to needing him again.  To say the other…he knew she could've meant it in a sexual way, but for now, he was going to believe in the literal translation of her words.  That she loved him.  

The wait became interminable for both of them, and almost by mutual consent, Spike pressed upward.  Buffy's fingers ran down the curve of his spine as he held himself there, and when he began the slow action of pumping in and out, never taking his eyes from her face, she moved her hands to his ass, guiding and holding him as it moved above her.

Each stroke carried with it its own rhythm, a unique tenor that sang through both of their bodies.  Breath after breath, beat after beat, his tempo gradually increased, his hands dancing over her curves, sliding between them to tease and taunt her nipples.

When she felt his touch on her breasts, Buffy bucked, forcing Spike to fight against her strength to keep her on the bed.  Her head arched back, and just as he'd been fantasizing about it earlier, the curve of her neck bared to him in luscious glory, inviting him to taste even as he pushed both of them to their climaxes.  

Spike's eyes fixated on the pulse point at the hollow of her throat, felt the demon inside begin to fight against his control.  It would be so easy, he thought.  He could do it and in her current state of arousal, she wouldn't have the power to stop him.  And it would be good, he knew.

But not as good as this, whispered Reason.  And not as good as before, and hearing her voice say those surprising things to him when he least expected it, and seeing her roll her eyes when he said something that particularly annoyed her, and tasting the sweet nectar of her kisses.  That couldn't even begin to compare.

So instead he rested his forehead to hers, feeling her sweat slick the path, and pushed her harder, their bodies aching for release even as she fought to breathe.

When she came, she screamed, clinging to his back with a fervor that ceased his strokes, locking him in place, driving him closer and closer to his own release than if she'd allowed him to continue.  The instant her hold eased, however, Spike resumed his thrusts, pushing himself to his own orgasm with a shuddering cry that was muffled when he closed his mouth over hers.

Buffy's hands came up to the back of his head, combing through his now-mussed curls as she kissed him back, unexpected relief that he hadn't laughed in her face at her confession superceding the warmth of her orgasm.  "Love you," she whispered again when he finally broke free, and was rewarded with a surprisingly shy upturn of his lips, the most gentle of nips along her jaw before his mouth settled just below her ear.

"Like those words, too," Spike murmured.

As he slid to her side, the fluids of their bodies already beginning to dry in the chilled air of the hotel room, he felt her sigh of contentment relax her muscles as she nestled back against him, joining it with his own satisfied groan.  His nose nuzzled the loose strands of her hair, and carefully, Spike tightened his grip around her waist.

He knew he'd have to tell her about the chip one of these days.  Clara was right about that.

Just didn't have to be right now.

To be continued in Chapter 27: Early Minor…


	27. Early Minor

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.  And the chapter titles are courtesy of Miles Davis.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Buffy has told Spike she loves him, Spike has not told her yet about the chip being gone, and the plans move forward to try and figure out what the hell is going on with Willow, Sandrine, and Anya…

*************

Her head was killing her.  Carefully, as if moving would mean even more pain, Anya lifted her hand to the side of her skull and felt the knot that had formed there after that stupid vampire Tom had hit her over the head.  Way to go for making Xander jealous, she thought irritably.  You win first prize in the stupid stunts of the century contest.

She knew without opening her eyes where she would be.  Well, maybe not the specifics, but she knew who was responsible for giving her the killer headache and dumping her on one horrifically uncomfortable couch.  It could only be Sandrine and Iris, and she was still somewhere in whatever they were dubbing their lair these days.  Anywhere else, and surely someone would've been instantly at her side as soon as she had moved, offering her a cold beverage or maybe some gratifying sex to make up for having gotten her kidnapped in the first place.

As if in direct response to her thoughts, Anya heard a faint creak off to her left and realized she wasn't as alone as she thought.  One eye cracked open, and she squinted into the blinding light of the room.  "Xander?" she asked faintly.

"Freddie," came back the reply, and her lids fluttered shut again.

Crap.  Freddie was the one who snatched Willow.  Suspicions confirmed.

"Are you thirsty?" Freddie asked.  "I don't have keys to the liquor cabinet but there's some water.  It might just take the edge off until somebody around this place decides to wake up and let us get some kind of proper breakfast."

He sounded annoyed, and Anya frowned as she opened her eyes again.  A couple firm blinks made the light inside the room more palatable and she saw the young man sprawled on a chair nearby.  Not bad-looking was her first thought, followed almost immediately by, but not as good-looking as Xander.  There was something about him, though, something familiar, and she couldn't stop the query from popping out of her mouth.

"Have we met?" she asked.

Freddie grinned.  "Officially, the answer would be no.  Unofficially, the answer is kind of no, kind of yes.  I'm Freddie."

"You said that already."

"And you're Anyanka."

"Anya," she automatically corrected.  "Wait.  Did I wreak vengeance on you or something?  Is that how I know you?"

His grin grew wider, like the Cheshire Cat's, and she had the instinctive reaction to slap it from his face.  "Kind of yes, kind of no," he said obliquely.

In spite of her headache, Anya pulled herself up into a sitting position, noting for the first time the plush interior of the room.  She hadn't been bound, and as far as she could see, this Freddie wasn't armed.  Was it possible she wasn't being held captive after all?  A quick assessment of the interior again, though, negated that question.  It reeked of the same Arabian night/post-modern opulence that the club did.  It had to belong to the vampire Buffy had told them about.

"Look, I'm not one who's really very big on skirting around the issue," she said, smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress.  "So, why don't you just get over this need of yours to play Mr. Mystery and tell me what the hell is going on here because I have a monster headache and I'm _really _not in the mood to pussyfoot around.  So.  Let's start with an easy one, OK?  Like, where am I?  Am I still at Midnight?"

He nodded.  "These are Iris' private quarters."

"And you're the guy who kidnapped Willow."  When he seemed reluctant to confirm, she sighed in annoyance.  "OK, see, now that wasn't actually a question, so you don't have to worry about giving too much of your…"  She used air quotes to say the next.  "…'evil plot' away.  I know this is about the voix mortelle, and I know that somehow, Sandrine has decided to come back from the dead and take over Willow's body.  Whatever.  What I don't know is why, or what taking me hostage has to do with anything."

"But…Willow _is_ Sandrine."

That made her pause, and Anya's eyes narrowed as she studied him.  The events of the attack on Spike, and the words of Halfrek, and her own recollections of the last time she'd been in New Orleans, combined to settle into a pattern, albeit an unbelievable one, inside her brain.  "And you're Percy," she said slowly.  "That's why you look so familiar.  You have his eyes."

"Well, technically, I have his soul.  That's the way the whole reincarnation gig works, you know.  But give the girl a prize anyway."  He stopped, looking at her quizzically.  "It is girl now, right?  You're not a demon anymore?"

His casual dismissal of her status pissed her off, and Anya bridled under his gaze.  "Only in the technical definition of the term," she said.  "So you don't want to mess with me.  Just because I can't actually _do_ most of the things I learned as a vengeance demon, doesn't mean I haven't still held on to a few of the tricks.  And it's done wonders for my imagination."

"You're not moving, though."

"Did I not mention the headache I have?  I'm…regrouping."  She rolled her eyes at his smug attitude, and collapsed back into the couch.  "So there used to be three of you," she commented.  "Where's Bettina?  Who gets to be her?"

His smile disappeared, a cloud shading his gaze in pain.  "That was Stella," he replied.

His use of the past tense didn't go unnoticed.  "Great," she muttered.  "So Sandrine really is back on her homicidal ego trip.  I was kind of hoping she was just saving the nasty stuff for demons and Slayers."

"Nope.  She's pretty much nasty to everyone.  Except for Iris, for some reason.  The two of them are gettin' on thick as thieves."

"That won't last.  Sandrine hates sharing."

"Tell me about it."

The moment of commiseration wrapped around them like a warm blanket.  "You know," Anya finally said, "Buffy's going to do everything she can to stop whatever Sandrine has planned.  It's very likely you could get caught in the crossfire.  Not that she'll kill you, of course.  She has this whole honor thing when it comes to humans.  But it doesn't mean she won't find a way to make your life completely miserable.  Like making sure you go to jail.  Or letting Iris make you her lunch."  OK, so that last wasn't true, but Freddie didn't know that and she watched in satisfaction as he visibly paled.

"Sandrine's very powerful," he said, but it lacked his normal conviction.

"And do you have any idea how many apocalypses Buffy has stopped?" Anya countered.  "She _will_ win.  That's just what she does.  But…"  She leaned forward conspiratorially, a sly gleam in her eye.  "…I'll bet if you were to let me go, maybe even come with me and tell everyone what exactly is going on, she'd give you a break.  And not one of the bone-crunching kind, if you know what I mean."

A long silence followed.  "I let you go, and Sandrine'll have my head for sure," Freddie finally said.  "Do you really think the woman who made me kill my best friend in front of her will think twice about serving me up for Iris' breakfast if you get away?"  He shook his head sadly.  "I don't think so.  As much as I'm beginning to regret getting into this little mess, I've got my own skin to be thinking about here.  And I like it wrapped around my body, thank you very much.  Not hanging in strips like some sort of sick mobile.  My advice to you is just do what she says and hope she's in a good mood when she decides to kill you so that she makes it quick.  'Cause if you piss her off?  She _will_ make your life hell.  You can take my word on that."

It was the defeat in his voice that made her skin itch.  As she hugged her arms close around her body, burrowing deeper into the cushions of the couch, Anya rolled his words over and over in her head, the memories of how psychotic Sandrine had been the first time around chilling her veins in fear.  Great, she thought.  And Willow is not exactly bursting with the Anya love either.   Add them together, toss in a side of good old-fashioned revenge, and what did she get?

Screwed to the wall.  And very much not in an orgasmic way.

*************

As terrified as the realization made her, Willow was getting used to her disembodiment, manipulating her awareness of Sandrine's activities enough to keep some semblance of sanity at the same time.  More than a few of the images that filtered through the other presence's consciousness made Willow begin to think that tackling demons on the Hellmouth wasn't such a bad recreational activity after all.  Anything had to be better than having front row tickets to the Psycho Horror Picture Show.   Even spending an afternoon listening to Anya discuss the virtue of ben-wa balls was preferable to what she was currently going through.

_Anya_.  Remembering the events of the previous night burned Willow in guilt.   Sandrine had plans for the ex-demon; she'd had them ever since going through the redhead's memories and realizing she was friends with the same person who had destroyed the voix mortelle the first time around.  _Why weren't you with Xander?  Why the Miss Flirty routine with Tom?  And why were you even here? Didn't Buffy tell you what happened to Spike?_  

Not that there was anything she could've done to stop Sandrine.  Not in putting the order out to snatch Anya, and not in distracting her best friend for the few minutes it would take to do so.  

But it was done now, and knowing what was planned only made Willow more determined to do something about stopping it, in whatever way she could.  She'd spent the entire previous day planning on what she would do in her small window of opportunity come sunrise, and now, she was waiting on pins and needles for Sandrine to wake up just enough so that she could implement her plan.

It came slowly this time.  

Physical sensation was the first to arrive, the heat from the bare body draped over hers making her sticky in spite of the air conditioning in the apartment.  Sandrine hadn't even known the guy's name when she'd picked him out from the crowd at the bar she'd dragged Iris to, but it didn't prevent her from taking him back to ravish until the poor guy passed out.  _You'd think she hadn't had sex in years_, Willow thought._  Oh.  Except… maybe she hasn't._

She could smell him then.  Sweat.  Cheap cologne.  Stale beer.  Yuck.  

_So glad I'm gay now._

Though her eyes weren't open, Willow could feel the beginnings of Sandrine's mind waking, slimy fingers slithering to pollute her mind.  _This is it.  The window's only cracked, but I can't waste it._

She focused her attention on rising from the bed and walking over to the desk in the room, picturing it like a silent movie.  _I really need a soundtrack.  Maybe Flight of the Bumblebee._  Except that made her dizzy, considering, even though Sandrine followed her example by doing exactly as she acted it out in her head, stumbling slightly as her drowsy lids refused to open completely.

She didn't know yet just how much control she could exert, whether directing her body's actions was all or if she could command her voice, too.  Now wasn't the time for experimentation, though.  Now, she had a plan to execute, and she couldn't afford to be playing footloose and fancy-free trying to see what kind of a puppetmaster she really was.

_Paper._

_Pen._

_Where's the pen?_

Willow felt the frown furrow her brow as Sandrine pulled open the drawer to look for the writing implement, rooting in the mussed interior only to come up empty.  She could've sworn she'd seen it out of the corner of her eye before falling into bed with whats-his-name; it had to be here somewhere.  Each pass of her gaze over the top only woke the other presence up more, though, and she felt the panic begin to rise in her throat until her eyes caught the tip of what she was seeking poking out from underneath a ledger in the corner.

_Bingo._

The words she'd chosen were scribbled hastily across the page of the notepad, pointed and concise to save on time, and she ripped it out, folding it in half and writing the name on the outer edge.  The grasp that had been a slither in her awareness began to be claws, and Willow fought to maintain control long enough to see her plan through.

_She can't catch me now.  She'll know I'm here._

_Door.  Get to the door._

_Oops.  Still naked.  Grab the robe._

_Crap.  Where'd that guard go?_

The hall was empty as she pulled the edges of the robe together, and Willow's gaze swept up and down it as she mentally bemoaned lazy vampires who left their posts when Iris specifically said to keep an eye on her.  _Like I'm going to try and escape.  Well, Sandrine would, but she needs to stick around if she wants her whole let's be evil and take over the world scheme to work._

Her panic was escalating into a full-blown anxiety attack as her tenuous manipulation began to fray, but when the vampire appeared around the corner, the sound of the opening door alerting him to her presence, she mentally exhaled.  _OK, look evil so that he won't make you talk.  How do you look evil?  Think leather.  Think Spike.  Think attitude.  _

_Oh, holy mother earth, just think of something and do it._

As she pressed the paper into his hand, the words tumbled from her mouth.  "He doesn't get this in half an hour and you'll be burning brighter than a Chinese firecracker, got it?"

The vampire visibly blanched and a startled Willow watched him rush away before slipping back inside the room.  She leaned heavily against the door.  _Wow.  Boy, do I love the sound of my voice.  My words.  And who knew vamps could actually get paler?_

Her glee in the success of her plan was quickly shuttled to non-existence as Sandrine finished waking, snapping to attention with a crisp slap, and Willow was once again relegated to the sidelines, watching as the other surveyed the room in curiosity, her confusion about why exactly she was up and out of bed darkening her thoughts.  There was no evidence that she suspected anything was wrong though, and as she dropped the robe back to a silken heap on the floor, Willow allowed herself to relax just ever so slightly.

It could still work.  She'd chosen the only other person who seemed to be trapped in Sandrine's spell who might be willing to do something about it, and though she wasn't convinced he would actually do anything, it was at least worth a shot in trying.  And if that didn't work, she'd just try something else.  She had her voice.  There were other options she could always try.

It wasn't like she didn't have all day to come up with something.

*************

"We don't have all day," Spike growled as he eased the Desoto to the curb.  "Buffy said they'd be back at the hotel by noon to play show and tell on what everyone's sussed out today."

"I know," Tara replied.  She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.  The irritation was very much a façade.  The vampire had been humming under his breath ever since she'd come to his room to request his help in getting some more supplies for the spells she had in mind, even casually switching to an easy listening station on the radio in the car when she'd grimaced at the blaring of the punk in the speakers.  More than once, she had caught him with a wistful smile on his face, but every time he saw her noticing him, Spike would affect an air of studied nonchalance.  

In a way, it was almost funny.  Where last night, he had been obviously angry at the whole mess with Anya, barely containing his rage as Xander and Buffy had argued, today he sat as if all was right with the world, as if nothing anybody said or did could make a dent in his good mood.  Yet, he was embarrassed when Tara noticed, shifting to indifference when he thought she was paying attention, only to slide back into whatever private paradise he was imagining that was making him so happy when she looked away.

"You want to come in?" she offered, pointing to the magic shop that was only just opening.  "Didn't you say something about wanting some burba weed?"  She already knew he had.  Knowing Buffy wanted him to spend the morning finishing up healing and faced with a young witch who said she'd just go get the supplies without him, it had been his way of justifying sneaking out into daylight to drive her himself.  Big Bad Big Brother, that's what he is, she thought.  Except I better not say that out loud or he'll get pissy for sure.  "They probably have it here."

She saw his eyes flicker through the cracks in the blacked out windows, assessing the people walking by on the street, before shrugging as if he didn't really have an opinion.  "S'long as you don't expect me to be paying for any of your fixings," Spike said as he reached into the seat behind him for his blanket.  His eyes glinted in amusement.  "I saw how much dosh you had in your purse when you made me stop for that coffee."

She couldn't help her small smile as she realized he was playing with her.  "I think someone's just cranky," Tara teased.  "It's not my fault Starbucks doesn't sell blood frappuccinos."

"And I'm tellin' you, they'd make a soddin' fortune," he countered as he slipped the blanket over his head.

There must be some kind of generic blueprint for magic shops that you can buy when you open one, Tara thought as she followed a smoking Spike through the door.  Dimly lit, with shelves carrying a cornucopia of magical minutiae, it looked very much like the store back in Sunnydale.  It was just missing Mr. Bogarty behind the counter.  In his place was a girl who looked to be her age, absorbed in flipping through a Cosmo laid out on the counter, bubble gum cracking as she chewed casually away.  She didn't even look up when her first customers of the day walked in.

"I shouldn't be very long," Tara said to Spike.  "I have a list."

He nodded and sauntered off, leaving her to stand and stare around her as she tried to determine where to start.  Most of what she needed was run-of-the-mill, so replacing what they'd used would be simple.  Plus, she hadn't anticipated the healing spell they'd done on Spike to work so effectively, so those were ingredients that would definitely be good to have on hand, should the need to cast it arise again.

She'd been surprised to see his face bereft of any of the burns when she'd first walked in on him that morning.  He'd even moved with his usual feral grace, devoid of any visible pain.  When she'd asked how he was feeling, though, she hadn't been prepared for the smile that curved his lips, his head ducking shyly as he'd headed for the bathroom.

"Right as rain," he'd said quietly.

Whatever had happened between him and Buffy after leaving for their room the previous night had obviously settled the fears that she'd sensed when she'd redressed his wounds.  She only hoped that they would find Willow soon enough so that hers could get settled as well.

She was lost in her thoughts, her arms laden with items, when the door swished open and closed again.  It wasn't until she felt the soft brush of someone's sleeve against her bare skin of her elbow that she realized she and Spike were no longer alone in the shop.

"Sorry about that," the young man who'd bumped her said.

Tara looked up to see a youthful face, marred with a series of scars around his left eye, the smell of motor oil clinging to his skin though it appeared to be clean, and just nodded in mute acceptance of his apology.  When she turned to head for the shelf of talismans where she could get the last of her items, she immediately bumped into another man, older but almost identically scarred.  The smile he cast down to her raised goosebumps along her arms, especially when he stepped forward to press her into the shelves behind her back.  

"Interestin' place, ain't it, sugar?" the second man drawled.  His voice was low enough so that only she and his companion could hear him, the heat from his body causing rivulets of sweat to begin dripping down her back in spite of the air conditioning within the shop.  "'Course, I'm goin' to bet it's not nearly as interestin' as you."  Thick fingers came up to flick the ends of her hair over her shoulder, and too close, Tara saw the calluses roughening the pads, his nails that had been chewed down to the quick.

Speech was impossible.  Instinctively, her body curled into itself, her head lowering as she felt the fear begin to boil in her stomach.  Go away, she chanted silently.  Please.  Just leave me alone.

He was heedless of her reaction.  Taking the topmost jar from Tara's grasp, the man gave it a rough shake.  "'Course, only those who lay down with the devil deal in witchcraft.  You a witch?  Or just lookin' for some Halloween trinkets?"  He didn't wait for an answer, and Tara felt his friend step closer to her side, her heart starting to pound inside her chest.  "I'm thinking…witch.  You got the look about you.  Don't she got the look, Daryl?"

Daryl nodded.  "Yep, she got the look."

She couldn't move.  Each word, each twang, even the acrid scent of their skin, sent Tara back to the small community in which she'd grown up, and the taunts she'd suffered from the mouths of both her family and her so-called Christian neighbors.  Whispers of fear that introduced the nightmares, drove her to hide behind the walls of her house, now came screeching back, rooting her to her spot as she fought to quell her rising nausea.  How could I forget? she wondered helplessly.  How could I ever forget?

"I-I-I really need to p-p-pay for these," she stuttered, and inwardly screamed at how easily the frightened little girl came back.  All because of a couple of no-brain hicks who didn't understand one single thing about what it meant to be evil.  And yet…she didn't move.

"What kind of spell you plannin' on casting, baby girl?" the older man asked.  "A love spell?  There a boy you're trying to seduce to the dark forces of the devil, too?"  She flinched when he reached out and brushed her cheek, and couldn't help the whimper that squeaked in her throat.  "All you girls are after---."

"Am I missing some sort of party here, pet?"

Never had the sound of Spike's voice sent such a rush of pleasure through her body, and Tara's head jerked up, her breathing quickening in anticipation of the freedom he represented as the blond vampire stepped up behind Daryl.  His head was tilted, his thumbs hooked through his belt loops, and at that exact moment in time, he looked like an angel to her.

"We was just havin' ourselves a little chat with the lady here," the older man said defensively, his gaze sweeping over Spike in disgust.  "Just mosey along there."  He pointed to the opposite end of the store.  "I believe the eighties are thataway."

He and Daryl shared a snicker as Spike just rolled his eyes.  "Guess it must Junior's day to be having the brain."

When it became obvious the blond wasn't moving, both men turned away from Tara to square off with him.  "I believe you were told to vamoose," Daryl said.  "Don't make us get physical."

"Now that would be interestin' to see.  Haven't had a decent spot of violence in a good twelve hours."  Spike ducked as the first punch was thrown, watching as the older man went sprawling when his fist connected with air.  He shook his head in disdain.  "Now that was just pathetic."

When Daryl's fist shot out, the vampire stopped it with his own open grip, using the man's momentum to propel him sideways, tossing him into his friend so that the two tangled in a heap.  His face was grim, eyes flashing gold as he surveyed their struggle to get up, lashing out with a heavy boot when Daryl managed to get to his knees.

"Guess you don't like pickin' on people your own size," Spike said coldly.  "I'd make you apologize to the lady, but somehow, I don't think you'd mean it."

Only when the two men stumbled out of the store, Daryl clutching at his sore ribs, was Tara able to move again.  The breath she'd been holding came out in a ragged exhale, but before she could thank Spike for his intervention, the clerk behind the counter spoke up.

"Thanks for saving me the trouble of calling my dad," she said gratefully, though her finger casually held her place on the page of her magazine.  "He hates it when those guys show up.  They always make a mess of the place."

Spike's eyebrows shot up.  "They're regulars?"

"In the crazy, we hate everything magical and therefore we must ruin it for everyone else, kind of way.  Yeah.  Thanks for not making them brunch, too.  I'm really _not_ in the mood to be mopping up blood this morning."

The latter made both Tara and Spike pause, albeit for different reasons.  "You know I'm a vampire?" he asked the clerk.

"Well, duh.  The smoking blanket kind of gave you away."

"And you're not scared?"

With a heavy sigh, the girl reached down behind the counter and extracted a large cross and water pistol.  "Holy water," she said in explanation.  "I'm covered."

"S-s-so, those guys…they're…not demons?"  Seeing Spike hurt them had made her automatically assume they were.  If they weren't…

"Nope.  Just your garden variety jerk-off humans."  The clerk gestured toward the items that Tara still clutched to her chest.  "You ready for me to start ringing you up?"

She didn't even hear the girl's words.  As she watched, Spike turned away, reaching into his pocket for his cigarette and lighter, pointedly ignoring the "No Smoking" sign emblazoned along the wall as he quickly lit one up.  Some of it made sense now.  In the cosmicly ironic definition of the word.  His jitteriness last night.  His quick disappearance when the fight started heating up between Buffy and Xander.  It might even account for some of his good mood this morning.

Surprisingly enough, though, it didn't scare her.  He'd had more than enough opportunities to act on it, and hadn't.  He had, in fact, defended her, _protected_ her.

But she still had to know for sure.

Dumping her things to the counter, Tara approached him cautiously, reaching out to touch the worn leather of his sleeve when he tried to turn away.  "The chip?" she asked tremulously.

It took forever for him to answer.  When he did, his head was bowed, his gaze watching the ash on his cigarette sift to the ground before being scattered by the fan of the air conditioning vents.

"Gone," was all Spike said.

To be continued in Chapter 28: Agitation…


	28. Agitation

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.  And the chapter titles are courtesy of Miles Davis.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Freddie is watching Anya at Midnight, Willow has been proactive in trying to help herself by slipping someone a note, and Spike has averted an attack on Tara, alerting her to the fact that he no longer has his chip…

*************

He felt like tearing something apart with his bare fingers, as if his sudden freedom from the chip meant he had to spend every waking opportunity destroying the tangible.  Instead, Spike drummed his fingers along the steering wheel, torn between wishing the windows weren't blacked out so that he could see her emerge from the magic shop and grateful that they were so that he wouldn't have to see her face when she did.

Having the witch find out about his missing chip had not been on his agenda for the day.  Spike had woken up wrapped around Buffy, and though the prospect of telling her had niggled along his spine with millipede legs, knowing how she felt about him made it seem more likely that she wouldn't hold his returned power against him.  So he'd gloried in how she felt in his embrace, her curves melded to him in a perfect fit, the sultry scent of her skin enticing him to run the tip of his tongue along the side of her neck.  

Even in her sleep, she'd reacted.  With a small squirm of her bottom into his hard cock, she'd sighed as he relished the tickly texture of the tiny hairs at her nape as they stood on end, stretching her neck forward to allow him easier access.  Blunt teeth nibbled at the muscles, and Spike had slipped his hand between the heat of her thighs, coaxing them to part until the musk of her arousal filled his nostrils.  

Ambrosia.  That's what it was.  More so than anything else.  Just as the words, _I love you_, were stronger chains than any piece of hardware shoved inside him could ever be.

It made his mouth water, slick as he began sucking at her flesh, long fingers parting her outer lips to penetrate the wetness of her slit with a gentle thrust.  Buffy had moaned then, the corner of her mouth lifting. 

"Morning," she'd murmured, and reached behind her to float over the topography of his muscles as though touching him would somehow destroy the spell he was weaving with his tongue and fingers.

His only response was to flick his thumb over her clit, smiling into her skin when she bucked against him.

"Not fair."  It came through the beginning of a pant, and the glimpse of her tongue darting out to lick her lips made Spike growl in response.  "I have to…Anya…you know…" she'd continued, coherence failing her in light of the trembling that seemed to be overtaking her muscles.

"Doesn't have to take long," he'd said, and would've been inside her in a flash if the bloody phone hadn't decided to ring at that exact moment.  His hand had grabbed hers as she reached to answer it, and it had taken all his will to keep the pleading tone out of his voice as he spoke.  "Don't answer it.  Just…let it go."

"I can't.  You know that."  No recriminations.  Just the resignation of what she accepted as her life, hope that he would understand as she picked up the receiver.

He'd laid back, just watching the golden arc of her back as she spoke hurriedly with her Watcher, confirming their plans and assuring him she would be in his room in five minutes.  When she'd finished, she'd quickly swiveled to drop her mouth to his, her kiss hard but brief.

"This place has a pool," she'd breathed, pulling away to look into his eyes.  "I think I might be convinced to go for a nighttime swim or something.  To…unwind from the day."

"Still don't see why I can't go with you," he'd said, running his hand up the inside of her thigh.  "Think I proved last night I'm healed up enough.  And don't pull out your daylight excuse again because that one doesn't hold water any more, not when I made it across this bleedin' country in near record time.  What's the point of gettin' a second gris gris if you're not goin' to let me use it?"

"You're right.  You _are_ well enough to fight, and as much as I love to watch you move…"  She'd slapped away his straying hand, shaking her head with a smile at his knowing smirk.  "…I still need for you to stay here.  Tara wants to do those spells she was talking about.  I think last night's fiasco at Midnight proved that none of us can really afford to be left alone right now, and if I had to pick someone to protect her, you are most definitely my number one choice."

She'd dropped another kiss on his unsuspecting lips then and scurried off, leaving him awash in unexpected pride.  That was where he'd remained, drifting between fantasies of taking her every way possible and the self-satisfaction in hearing her trust in him spoken so eloquently.

The arrival of the witch had jerked him from his reverie, and he'd just sat there, uncaring of his semi-nakedness, and listened to her explain that she needed some supplies and would be right back so he could go ahead and rest some more until she returned.  

"It's not far," Tara had said.  "And it's a beautiful day.  I'm just going to walk---."

"Are you completely daft?" Spike had shot back.  "In _this_ city?  No offense, but you're not the Slayer, kitten, and if you think for a second I'm goin' to let you risk that neck of yours over something as ridiculous as an eye of newt refill, you're not as smart as I gave you credit for."  Bunching the sheet around his waist, he'd risen from the bed and stalked off to the bathroom.  "Need some burba weed anyway," he'd grumbled, striving to make it seem more casual than it originally sounded.  "Just hold on there while I get dressed."

His good mood had prevailed, even after they'd arrived at the magic shop.  It was only when he'd heard the tosser comment on how "interesting" Tara was, and then felt the accompanying acceleration of Tara's heartbeat, did Spike's sense of amity dissolve. Let those wankers try and pull some of their misplaced misogynistic anger on one of _his_ girls?  Not bloody likely.  His reaction had been automatic, his delight in seeing them suffer even just a little bit---though he would've much preferred to pull their entrails out through their noses---blinding him for the split second before he realized he'd just given himself away.  It might've been all right if the big-mouthed bint behind the counter had just kept her mouth closed.

But now Tara knew.  And Buffy didn't.

And Spike was sitting in his Desoto, stewing in his own juices, torn between berating himself for being terrified of what the mousy little witch might do and furious that he was in the position in the first place.

His head thumped against the headrest in frustration.

Damn it all to hell.

The back door opened first, and he glanced in the rearview mirror to watch her slide the bag of supplies onto the seat.  Her eyes darted up to meet where his would've been if they'd reflected, and Spike saw the indecision hover there briefly before she pulled out and shut the door.

Seconds later, she was sliding across the front seat, buckling herself into place.

He didn't know if he should speak first, or if she wanted to, or if she was planning on ignoring the whole thing, or if…

Fuck.  Too many ifs.  Since when did dealing with humans get to be so damn hard?

"Thank you for what you…did in there," Tara said, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had settled between them.  "Those kind of guys…I know I sh-sh-shouldn't…they just…"

Spike waved a hand in dismissal, her obvious discomfort in reliving the recent memory just as bothersome to him, for some reason.  "Don't have to say a word," he said.  "Wouldn't do if something were to happen to you, too.  Buffy'd never forgive me."

"Does she…know?"

She didn't have to elaborate.  He knew exactly what she was talking about.  "No."  He frowned as he risked glancing over at her.  "Why aren't you fussed about it?"

"Should I be?"

It was the ingenuousness of her response that made him chuckle.  "Just strikes me this side of funny, kitten.  In there, it was lookin' like you wished the Hellmouth itself would open up and swallow you down whole just because two yokels with a teaspoon of brain between them decide to play Deputy Dawg for the magic set.  Yet, you find out my muzzle's gone and you climb into the front seat next to me like there's nothin' wrong.  Makes a bloke more than a mite curious."

"It's not so weird if you think about it."  She began ticking them off on her fingers.  "You could've attacked me at the hotel and you didn't.  You could've attacked me any time on the car ride here, and you didn't.  You could've eaten those guys in there, and you didn't.  You could've---."

He waved her silent.  "You can stop.  I think I got the picture.  Any more, and you'll make me sound like Mother fucking Teresa."

"Do you think Buffy would stake you if she found out?  Is that why she doesn't know yet?"

"She doesn't know because I've only just found out for myself," Spike replied.  "Last night.  Then, when everything hit the fan back at the hotel…didn't seem like the best time to be springing it on her, if you know what I mean."

"But you're going to tell her, right?  This isn't something you can really keep from her, not…you know, _now_."

Now.  Another stolen glance confirmed for him what he'd already suspected.  Tara was just too damn perceptive for her own good, and he was terrible at keeping a secret.  Reaching for the pack of cigarettes on the dashboard, he ripped at the wrapper, the cellophane crackling too loudly in the close confines of the car as he pulled a single stick from the packaging.  "Are all you witches mindreaders?" he asked irritably. The tip of the cigarette flared in a sudden crisp as he lit it, and Spike inhaled deeply.  "I'm beginning to think it's a conspiracy."

Tara's eyes went wide.  "Me?  Clairvoyant.  Oh, no."  She paused, unable to keep from smiling.  "But, Spike…I _do _know the difference between a burn mark and a hickey."

Her tease caught him completely off-guard, and Spike sputtered around his cigarette, causing Tara to lean over and pat him firmly on the back as if to clear his lungs.  When he looked at her again, it was with renewed respect, the corner of his own mouth canting to mirror her grin.

"Next time, warn a fella that you're goin' to surprise the shit out of him," he said.  "I think I almost swallowed my cig there for a second."

The mirth that radiated from her gaze eased, and she let her hand drop back down into her lap.  "I'm serious, though," she said.  "Buffy doesn't like secrets.  Especially when they're being kept from her.  I may not have known her for very long, but---."

"I know I've gotta tell her," he interrupted, his voice solemn in the small space.  "Just…not…lookin' forward to it."

"It'll be worse if you wait.  It's best to just get it over with, I think."

"Why?  So she can go back to hating me?"  The venom in his voice surprised even him.  "Not that fighting her isn't its own reward, but…that's what not what I want anymore.  Not…fuck…this wasn't s'posed to happen like this."

"Which part?"  Her own voice was a contrast of softness.  "The me finding out, or the you falling in love with Buffy?"

He stared at her in amazement, his cigarette forgotten between his fingers.  It sounded different being spoken aloud, and especially more so by someone who wasn't him.  Or the Slayer.  

Spike.  In love with Buffy.  

The Big Bad---OK, so that was a misnomer anymore, but hell if it didn't still give him a warm feeling somewhere deep inside to believe it---ready to lay down his unlife for the Slayer and her friends.

Time to stop running away from the truth and face it head on, consequences be damned.

I'm in love with Buffy.

When he didn't respond right away, Tara asked, "How long has it been gone?  Since…before you left?"

"Not sure," Spike admitted.  "But something that seer said last night makes me think it was whoever our mystery guest was yesterday.  I think our little Cecily wannabe showed up wantin' to give me back my fangs and added just a little too much juice to the mojo so that I healed up quicker, too."

She looked stricken.  "Oh, goddess," she breathed.  "This is all my fault then.  I'm the one who let her in."

Her guilt took him by surprise, and the vampire looked up at her incredulous.  "Is there _anything_ you don't feel responsible for?" he asked.  "It's got nothin' to do with you.  Whoever it was had a plan, and I hate to break it you, but if they had enough juice to take that bloody chip out, there's no snowball's chance in hell you would've been able to do anything about it."

"But…I let her…it…in.  Maybe---."

"Maybe nothin'.  It's done, it's out, and there's no more cryin' over what we can't change."  He snorted, shaking his head as he took another long drag from his cigarette.  "Listen to me.  Pontificating with the worst of them.  Think that poet's tryin' to squirm his way free again."

"Poet?"

"Nothin'.  Never mind."  Absently, he ground the butt out into the ashtray, and cast one last look over at Tara.  Nothing in her demeanor conveyed anything but concern for him, no pressing herself against the door in fear, no anxiety reflected back at him in her eyes.  Her hands lay open and relaxed in her lap, and her gaze remained steady on his face.  "Are you…"  Hell, why was this so hard?  "…goin' to tell her?" Spike asked.

She shook her head, a small smile on her lips.  "It's not my story to tell," she replied.  "And I know it's scary, but if you think about it, it's kind of exciting, too."

"You're kidding, right?"

"No, I mean it.  It's like…this is a chance for you to be something new.  Something…different.  Something better."  Her voice grew more wistful as she spoke, a faraway look overtaking her eyes.  "Because there's somebody there who's showing you, just by loving you, that you have a choice.  You don't have to follow a specific path if you don't want to.  Even if the other way looks good, or easier, you now get to decide for yourself what you want.  So, yeah.  I think it's exciting.  Maybe not apocalypse-y exciting, but still…"

She blushed when she realized his gaze was intent, and began playing with the strap of her purse.  "We should probably head back to the hotel.  I won't have time to get anything done before the others come back if we don't get on the road now."

Curtly, Spike nodded, and settled his hand on the keys on the ignition.  The fluttering underneath his skin still remained, the desire to do anything---_be anywhere but here_---but drive back to the hotel only to wait to hear the Slayer pass sentence on him once she knew the truth still curdling within him.  But the witch had a point, even if he knew she was mostly talking about herself than anything else.

It was like that seer said.  

He had a choice.  The decision rested with him.

And he wasn't about to start disappointing Buffy now by making the wrong one.

*************

Trudging through the tunnels carried with it a mixture of emotions---the nausea from the stench that swirled from the water and raw sewage around their ankles, the nervousness about the anticipation of getting this whole fiasco with Willow and Anya fixed, and the oddest one of all, remembered desire as she recalled memories of the last time she'd gone through these sewers, following Spike only to end up being kissed and touched in ways that flamed her even now.

Of course, the desire was quickly fading the more she had to listen to Xander complain behind her.

"For someone who spent most of last night and all of this morning blaming himself for Anya's current predicament," Giles finally said, exasperation edging his voice, "you are spending far too much time bemoaning the means we opt to get her back, Xander."

"It's not bemoaning," he countered.  "It's be-holding my nose-ing.  And what I don't get is why you two are so eager to have a repeat performance of Buffy's brush with Joe Law."  
"It's not going to happen this time," Buffy said, shifting the weight of the sword she'd snagged from Giles' trunk.  "Last time, I didn't know how to get out.  This time, we're all escape route-friendly if we get interrupted."

"And we learned nothing from our search outside," the Watcher further clarified.   "Are you so eager to give up on Anya that you're not willing to try this out?"

"No, of course not," Xander said.  "But not twelve hours ago, Buffy was ripping us a new one for coming around here, and now she's leading the hit parade?  I guess I'm just not seeing the logic behind this."

"We're just taking a quick peek," she said.  "Just to confirm whether or not Anya's there.  In and out.  No harm, no foul."

"From the way Anya talks," Giles muttered, "I would've thought that was a rhythm you'd understand."

Buffy's eyes widened at the sarcasm that dripped from his voice and had to fight to stifle the giggle that rose in her throat, grateful that Xander hadn't seemed to notice what was said.  This particular recon was really a last resort, only suggested when after talking to every shop owner within a two-block radius had given them absolutely nothing.  No mysterious screaming in the middle of the night.  No dark shadows dragging a girl of Anya's description down the street.  Nada.  And desperate times called for desperate measures.

"What happens next?" Xander asked, picking his way around an awkward curve, the crossbow bumping against his back.  "Provided we come out of this with the proverbial bupkiss, what's next on the agenda?"

"We go back and see if Spike and Tara came up with anything," Buffy said.

"And I'd very much like to go over those cryptic remarks that seer said to you," Giles offered.  "Perhaps there are some clues in there as to how we should proceed."

"Great," Xander said under his breath.  "Nothing like the concrete to vague this up even more."

Stopping in her tracks, Buffy whirled to face off with the young man, startling him to a halt when he almost bumped into her.  "What's with the attitude, Xan?" she demanded.  "You've been all doom and gloom ever since we left the hotel.  Is there something else you'd like to say to me?  Something that you didn't say last night?"

She wasn't still mad at him.  After the amazing night with Spike, confessing to him what she'd only just confessed to herself---and how hard was it for her to leave him this morning when there was so much more she wanted to say---Buffy had woken up realizing that her friends had done what they had thought was best, well-intentioned if a little misguided, and had decided to let it go.  The problem was, while Giles and Tara seemed fine with moving on, Xander didn't.  Every step, every word, every grimace on his face was screaming at her that something was still wrong, and she was tired of waiting for him to tell her what it was.

His brown eyes, when they met hers, seemed to overwhelm his face, wide and hurting as his voice remained somber.  "It's not you," he assured quietly.  "It's me.  All of this.  _I'm_ the one who got Anya in trouble last night.  _I'm_ the one who freaked Anya out in the first place when all this mess started.  I'm just…it would be nice if maybe something I touched didn't curl up and die like something that got left in the fridge for too long.  I'm tired of being the bad guy here.  I just…"  His voice finally broke, and he looked down as he kicked at the water that swilled around his feet.  "I want them back.  Whatever it takes.  Both of them.  I don't know what I'd do without them, Buffy."

Guilt for not understanding softened her stance, and the Slayer took a step forward and laid a small hand on her friend's arm.  "We'll get them back," she said.  "I promise.  If I have to---."

"Sshhh," Giles warned.

Frowning, the two younger people turned to see the Watcher staring down the tunnel in the direction from which they'd come, his eyes narrowed behind his spectacles as he cocked his head.  It was then they heard it, the unmistakable sound of splashing.  Feet splashing, moving closer to them.  Coming through the tunnels just as they had.

"Get back," Buffy said in a low voice, and raised the sword as she crept toward the bend in the tunnel.

When the three vampires rounded the corner, they stopped dead in their tracks, their eyes widening when they saw a ready Slayer waiting for them.  "Shit," she heard one of them mutter before relaxing from her stance.

"Oh," she said brightly.  "And here I thought it might be something hard to kill sneaking up on us.  Silly me."

"Where's your boyfriend, Slayer?" the largest of the trio taunted.  Someone had obviously turned him some time during the height of Seattle grunge, she decided, taking in the "Corporate magazines still suck" slogan emblazoned across his chest with Kurt Cobain's picture underneath.

"Yeah," said the smaller vamp just to his left.  "Spike sure got himself crispified.  You looking for the same---."

He exploded in a cloud of dust, the stake splashing to the ground, before he could finish his sentence.  The two remaining vampires looked at each other, and then a little more warily at Buffy.

"Does either one of you want to finish what your friend was saying?" she said brightly.  "Because, really, listening to you guys remind me how much I hate your boss?  _Great_ incentive to make killing you hurt all that much more."

They rushed her en masse, and Buffy brought her leg around to send Grungy flying through the air toward Xander and Giles.  That left her squared off with the third of the group, a beefy guy who probably was all forehead even without being in vamp face, but as she raised her sword to fight, he kicked at the water, splashing it up into her face so that it momentarily blinded her.

Buffy grunted when the vamp tackled her, throwing her against the wall as her weapon went flying from her grip.  "So, we're playing dirty, huh?" she asked.  "I can do that."

Using his hold on her as leverage, she pulled herself tighter against him to close their proximity, her knee jerking up as their torsos touched.  It connected with his groin with all her force behind it, and he wheezed as he slumped against her in pain, his hands dropping from where he was holding her to clutch at his crotch.

"Told you I could do it," Buffy said.  As he stumbled backwards, trying to get out of her reach, she shook her head.  "Oh, no, you don't," she warned, and grabbed the hem of his jacket.

It only stopped him momentarily.  As soon as he felt the pull on his coat, the vampire curled back his shoulders so that the garment fell from his body, leaving it to hang limply in the Slayer's hands.

"Crap," she muttered, dropping it to the ground.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Xander and Giles struggling with Grungy.  Still standing and still have weapons, she noted.   OK.  Concentrate on mine.

He was staggering from the pain in his privates, but he still stood between Buffy and her sword.  Her stake, however, was another matter, and she darted forward to pluck it from the wet mush that had been the first demon she'd dusted.  The splash it made was audible, and her target ducked just as she leapt forward, forcing her to correct her trajectory before slamming into the opposite wall.

She didn't have time to turn when she felt him thrust her forward, and braced herself for the contact with the cement.  It winded her only for a second, but his body pressed against hers made moving away momentarily impossible.  Well, she thought, if he won't move on his own, I'll have to do the moving for him.

A stomp of her foot on his was followed immediately a reverse head butt, the back of her skull meeting his chin.  Before he could get too far away, though, the Slayer had whirled and plunged the stake into his chest, the dust taking longer to settle from the air due to the increased moisture.

When she turned to help the others, she was greeted with their panting bodies, Xander bent over and wheezing as Giles leaned heavily against the wall.  Grungy was nowhere to be seen.

"Cool," she said brightly.  "I didn't even hear him scream when you killed him."

"That would be because he ran away," Giles managed.  He gestured abstractly in the direction they'd originally been heading.  "That way," he said between heavy breaths.

Her good mood faded.  "Damn.  I guess that rules out heading to Midnight ourselves.  I guess you got your wish, Xander."

The brunette straightened, and Buffy saw the beginnings of a black eye darkening his face.  "Sorry he got away," he said.  "He was slipperier than he looked."

"No big.  We should probably be heading back anyway."  Taking the weapons from their hands to ease their travel, Buffy turned away and began walking back down the tunnel.  She stopped, though, when something white floated away from the discarded vampire coat.  "Hey," she said, pointing at it with her toe.  "Can one of you pick that up and see what it is?  My hands are a little full here."

Gingerly, Giles bent over and extracted the item, shaking it slightly to reveal a limp piece of paper.  His eyes narrowed as he scanned the outside, and tightened even further when he unfolded it and looked at its contents.

"What is it?" Xander asked, coming up to look over the Englishman's shoulder.

"A note.  To Freddie," Giles answered.

Buffy frowned.  "That's the guy who kidnapped Willow.  What's it say?"

He shook his head.  "The water's made the ink run.  Most of it is illegible."

"Can you read _any_ of it?"

"The only thing that is perfectly clear is the signature."  His eyes met hers.  "It's from Willow."

*************

He heard the crashing long before anyone appeared, and stood ready by the liquor cabinet, Anya shrinking back into the couch behind him, when the vampire appeared through the opening from the tunnels.  Freddie immediately frowned, grimacing as the stench from the sewers followed the demon in, and stepped as far away as he could from the new arrival while keeping himself between him and Anya.

"Is there something hard about usin' the door?" he complained loudly.  "I find it tends to be a little less messy, a little less stinky when you do."

"Slayer," the vampire wheezed, pulling an arrow awkwardly from its leg.  "Right behind me."

"Figures," Freddie said, and turned to see the look of triumph on Anya's face.

"I _told_ you something like this would happen," she said loudly.

Shaking his head, Freddie set about pounding on the outer door.  "Open it up!" he called out.  "We got us a situation."  He waited until it was cracked ajar and pointed back at the other vampire.  "He says the Slayer's on her way.  I suggest you get a car around so that I can get Sandrine's little guest out of here."

"The Slayer?"  The guard looked from him to the other vampire in the room.  "Are you sure about that?"

"Would I be standing here bleeding all over Iris' floor if it wasn't serious enough to be the Slayer?" Grungy announced petulantly.

That settled it.  Pushing the door open even further, the guard stepped aside.  "Get her out front.  I'll make the call."

"I told you so," Anya repeated to Freddie triumphantly.

Roughly, he grabbed her arm and began dragging her from the room.  "Say that one more time and I swear I'll slap you senseless," he threatened as they disappeared into the hallway.

*************

From behind him, Halfrek watched as D'Hoffryn shut down the image of the events going on in New Orleans.  "I guess you underestimated Anyanka's loyalty to her new friends," she said lightly.

"I think I've underestimated all of the Slayer's friends' loyalty," he mused quietly.  "Although Anyanka's presence certainly will speed up their summoning of Sira.  Which means I will have the voix mortelle all that much sooner."

"But you heard her.  The Slayer's determined to put a stop to it all, _and_ she was right there.  Perhaps your little plan for William didn't work."

Slowly, he looked over his shoulder, his gaze cold and steady.  "You're not questioning my methods, are you, Halfrek?" he quizzed.

Her hands jumped nervously to play with the locket around her neck.  "Of course not.  I just meant---."

"I know what you meant."  D'Hoffryn turned away.  "And don't worry.  Everything will work out.  The vampire won't be able to deny his true nature for long.  He's killed two Slayers already.  The opportunity to add a third to his resume will be too strong to resist.  And then, Buffy Summers will be too busy trying to contain him to pay any attention to my little interest."  Unseen to her, he smiled.  "Everything will work out…"

To be continued in Chapter 29: One Phone Call…


	29. One Phone Call

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.  And the chapter titles are courtesy of Miles Davis.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Tara has talked to Spike about not having the chip, Freddie has taken Anya from Midnight, while Buffy, Xander, and Giles have fought a group of vampires in the sewers and intercepted the note from Willow to Freddie…

*************

"I think it's a Y."

"Are you kidding?  That's clearly an X."

"An X?  How many words have X's in them?  I'm telling you it's a Y.  You forget.  We used to pass notes in class.  I've seen her Y's a billion times.  And that's most definitely a Y."

"All I'm saying is that I got just as many notes as you did, so I am intimately aware of what Willow's X's look like."  He bridled when Tara glanced up from where she was sitting cross-legged on the floor, the book in her lap momentarily forgotten.  "Not that kind of intimately," Xander quickly backpeddled.  "I meant, intimately as in very."

"I still think it's a Y."

"It doesn't matter if it's a bloody rune!" Spike exploded.  Simultaneously, Buffy and Xander turned in their seats at the lone desk in the hotel room to look at the vampire sprawled in the chair.  "You haven't got a single word from that note to make a lick of sense, so why sit around and fuss about one soddin' letter?" he went on to say.  "Call it a wash, toss it away, and let's _do_ something about it before something else happens to cock everything up."

The group sat in stunned silence at his outburst, Giles stopping in mid-pace to scrutinize him carefully.  "I believe Spike's right," he said slowly.

"'Course I'm right," he grumbled, slouching further into his chair.  "And it's about bloody time you realized that."

"Clearly, we're not going to decipher any more of Willow's note," he continued, ignoring the interruption.  "What's important here, is now we know Willow is at least partially in control of her faculties.  She must be, in order to sign her own name."

"But that wasn't Willow in the swamp," Buffy argued.  "She called herself Sandrine.  Even Spike knew it wasn't her."

"Think I was the one who told you first," the vamp mumbled, and rolled his eyes when she shot him a pointed look.  The lot of them had been arguing for the better part of an hour, ever since their arrival from their failed recon, only stopping long enough for each of the trio to take a quick shower.  He'd ignored it at first, lost in his own thoughts, actually welcoming the respite to mull over his own course over the next few hours, but as it became increasingly clear that they were accomplishing nothing, his nerves began to fray.  Too much talking and not enough doing.  

Fidgeting had been inevitable, nudging at Tara's book on the floor with the toe of his boot so that her pages would flip, dropping bits of cellophane from his pack of cigarettes onto what she was reading.  She'd given him more than one annoyed but amused look, but hadn't moved from her position near his legs, settling for replacing the book in her lap so that he couldn't reach it and slapping playfully at his knees when it looked like he was moving again.  Even that had lost its interest, though, and so his outburst had been pretty much inescapable.

"Perhaps Sandrine doesn't have total control," Giles suggested.  "Perhaps, Willow has discovered a way to regain some power."

"But a note to Freddie?"  This came from Tara, her voice soft in its confusion.  "Why would she want to talk to him when he's the reason she's here in the first place?"

"I don't know," the Watcher admitted.  "That…remains a mystery."

Silence descended again as they considered their options.  This time it was Xander who broke it.

"So, Chips Ahoy, you seem to be all about the ideas on what we should and shouldn't be doing," the brunette said, swiveling in his chair to face Spike.  "What is it you think should be next on the itinerary?"

He didn't have a clue.  He'd just wanted them to stop nattering on so that he could have a few moments of peace.  No way was he going to give Harris the satisfaction of knowing that, though.  For a moment, Spike entertained the daydream of demonstrating for the young man just how gone the chip really was by giving him a matching black eye to go with the shiner he'd gotten in the sewers, but just as quickly, dismissed it.  Would be pleasant, but not worth the hassle.  Still, he had to come up with something.  They were all sitting there, looking at him, waiting for him to speak up.

"S'pose it's safe to wager Red's not at Midnight since that's where you say the goon squad with the note was headed," he said speculatively.

"Oh!  But Freddie probably is!"  Buffy visibly brightened, perking up in her seat as the connection finally made it in her brain.  She immediately deflated again.  "Or…_was_," she added with a small frown.

"Then you should've thought of that before you scarpered off," Spike replied with a cock of his brow.  "'Sides, goin' into that place was daft, and you know it."

"Thank you!" Xander exploded.  "It's _so_ nice to know I'm not the only one around here who thought that plan was suicide.  Even if it does mean having to agree with Bleach Boy here."

"Great," the vamp muttered.  "Me and Harris as the voices of reason in this lot?  Red's doomed."

"You still haven't told us what your suggestion is, Spike," Giles prompted.

Damn.  They'd picked up on that.

"Well," he said, stalling.  His mind raced, the fragments of a thought lighting on his tongue.  "I'd say, we need to suss out where that Sandrine bitch is---."

"No?  Really?"  Xander feigned shock, as if the idea was something none of them had considered.

Tara's glance at the brunette was just shy of reproach, and she twisted to face Spike.  "But we tried that already, remember?" she said.  "My spell didn't work.  Every time it looked like I was getting somewhere, a big block would come up and scatter my spell.  She's doing an excellent job of shielding herself."

"So, don't go looking specifically for her.  Look for someone around her.  What about Iris?"

She shook her head.  "I don't have anything of hers to focus on."

"So try a more generic spell.  Something for the demon set."

Tara poked at his leg.  "I think this heat has melted your brain, Spike.  We're in _New Orleans_.  I cast a spell to locate demons and it'll set my whole map on fire."

As he chuckled at the small joke, Spike caught the puzzled frown on Buffy's face as she glanced from him to the witch.  She didn't know what to make of the newfound camaraderie that had seemed to sprung up from nowhere between them, he realized, and felt a twinge of satisfaction.  It wasn't often he enjoyed equal footing within the Scooby dynamic; this most certainly was a welcome change.

"The note," Giles said abruptly, straightening as he put his glasses back on.  At everyone's confused faces, he said, "It's been touched by both Willow and the vampires she had acting as courier.  Perhaps we could modify the locator spell to instead focus on the path the note followed prior to our intercepting it."

"Make it act like a homing device, you mean?" Xander asked.

"In a sense."

Tara was shaking her head as soon as he made the suggestion.  "I'll have the same problem I had trying to find Sandrine," she said.  "As soon as I get anywhere near her, I'll lose the spell.  She's way too good."

"We haven't tried a locator spell on Anya yet," Buffy offered.  

"Actually, we have," Spike said.  "While you lot were out gettin' your sewer groove on, we had a go at it.  Didn't work."

"Well, that's not entirely true," Tara amended.  "It started to work, and then it looked like she was moving, and then it just kind of fizzled out like my spell for Sandrine did."

"That would suggest she was relocated to somewhere in Sandrine's proximity," Giles mused.

"Which takes us back to square one," Xander complained.  "Find Sandrine."

"Perhaps we're approaching this in the wrong manner," the Watcher said.  "It's obvious magic isn't going to help us at this point, not until we can find some way to neutralize or overcome what Sandrine can do.  Perhaps we should resort to doing it the old-fashioned way."  He looked at Spike.  "Didn't you use your local contacts to get to Iris in the first place?"

The vampire's eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out where the other Englishman was going with this.  "Yeah…"

"And with Willow using vampires as couriers, it would probably be safe to assume her alliance with Iris is keeping her in close contact with her.  Couldn't you use those same contacts to discover where Iris is during the day?  Outside of her club, of course."

Spike shook his head.  "I used Pablo for that," he said.  "And he's officially crossed off my snitch list."

"Well…uncross him."

"We can't."  This came from Buffy.  "He kind of had a little accident with a piano.  And my fists."

"And my cigarette," Spike interjected.  "Don't forget that."

"And Spike's cigarette," Buffy added.  "Pablo's definitely a no-go."

"Are you telling me you only had _one_ contact in this entire town?"

"Hey!"  Spike sat up and glared at the Watcher.  "I'll have you know, I've got a literal _bevy_ of contacts here.  I'm not goin' to sit here and listen to you sully my bad name---."

"So, call one of them.  I'm sure _someone_ must be able to tell us what we need to know."

He was caught, and he knew it.  As he scowled at Giles, Spike silently fumed for having fallen so cleanly into the Watcher's plan.  How is it I'm the one who always seems to be saving their tails? he groused.  Where would they be without me?

"Fine," he muttered, stomping to his feet.  Stepping over Tara, he grabbed his blanket and began heading for the door.

"Where are you going?" Buffy asked.

He stopped with his hand on the doorknob.  "If you think I'm goin' to make those calls here with you lot staring at me," he said, "you're off your nut.  'Sides, I'm peckish and all the blood's back in our room.  I'll be back once I've found something out."

Tossing the blanket over his head, he was about to yank the door open when Buffy's hand closed over his on the knob.  "I'll come with you," she said when he glanced back at her.  She smiled, and then said to the others in explanation, "Just to keep an eye on him.  Make sure he actually makes the phone calls instead of just hanging out long enough to make it look like he did."

They seemed to accept her reasoning, and the two blonds stepped outside, Spike nearest the wall to avoid the sunshine that filtered in through the overhang while Buffy walked along beside him.  She was silent until they reached their room, and he felt his irritation ease, her presence soothing his disjointed thoughts.  It was just a couple calls.  Nothing to be wasting time or energy complaining about.  And if it helped Red and Tara, then so be it.  He wasn't sure why the Slayer had insisted on tagging along, though.  She of all people should trust in him to help out in this.

Back in their room, Spike dropped the smoking blanket by the door, and was about to go to the phone when her hand settled on his forearm.

"What's going on?" Buffy asked.  She was chewing at her lip, the tiniest of lines between her eyebrows, and Spike tilted his head as he regarded her.

"Thought I was doin' my good deed for the day, pet," he said.  "Unless you've got something else in mind."

"No.  I meant…what's going on with you and Tara.  You're all…buddy buddy."

He grinned.  Ah.  Now it made sense.  "And that bothers you?  Thought we talked about that little green chip sittin' on your shoulder, luv."

"I'm not jealous.  It's just…where did it come from?"

"Well, considering she spent half of yesterday playin' nursemaid for me, and then you foisted me off on her again this morning, don't see why you're so surprised we might've actually gotten along."

"You _do_ know she's a lesbian, right?"

This was just getting too rich for words, and Spike had to refrain from laughing out loud.  "Do _you_ know she's a lesbian?" he countered.

"That's not the point."

"No, the point is, you're goin' to have to realize that there are a lot of birds out there who might find me interestin' to talk to, pet.  And that I might find interestin' back.  But it doesn't mean I feel any differently about you.  Or us."  He reached out, cupping the side of her face, long fingers intertwining with the hair at the base of her skull.  "Isn't it better like this anyway?"  

"How do you mean?"

His blue eyes softened, and he leaned forward, catching her lips in the lightest of kisses before pulling back again. "Me gettin' along with your mates makes them finding out about us easier, and that Tara's a bit of all right."  He stopped, considering for a moment, and then decided what the hell.  "You know she knows about us, right?  She sussed on to it and asked me about it this morning."

Buffy's eyes widened.  "How?  I thought we were being so good about not letting anything show."

He shrugged.  "She's a lot smarter than you think.  Not such a country mouse, that one.  She certainly surprised the hell out of me."

"Is she…going to tell?"

Flashes of his conversation with Tara caused Spike to pause.  Tell.  As in the chip.  He needed to get it out of the way, and now, being here alone with Buffy, it was just as good an opportunity as ever.  Except for the fact that Anya was still missing and the little Scooby gang seemed to think they were under some kind of deadline to get her back.  Get this out of the way, and _then_ I'll tell her, he decided.  When she's not distracted by something else.  It'll make it easier for her to take in that way.  Sooner didn't have to mean now, after all.

"She promised not to," he said out loud.  "Said…it was our story to tell."

She seemed relieved with this answer, and relaxed into his touch, stealing her arms around his waist to hold him tight.  "I'll do it tonight," she promised.  Over dinner.  Xander with food in his stomach is much easier to control than Xander without."

He smiled, brushing lips across the top of her head.  And he could tell her about the chip after.  Make it a whole night of confessions.  Yeah.  That sounded like a definite plan.

*************

"Do you think that's such a good idea?"  Iris had her arms folded across her chest, ignoring the doubled-over form of Anya on the floor in front of her, as she stared down at Sandrine.  Briefly, her gaze flickered to Freddie hovering in the corner of the room.  "The boy's an idiot.  You should really get rid of him."

"He got Anyanka here, didn't he?"  Lounging into the cushions of the vampire's couch, her leg bounced where they were crossed, green eyes watching as Anya managed to rise to her knees.  With a quick flick of her foot, she shoved at the ex-demon's shoulder, knocking her sideways against the cairn they had used for the spell, and smiled when the girl cried out as her forehead smashed into the stones.  "Plus, he lost the Slayer when he got her away.  Score bonus points for Freddie."

"But leaving him here alone---."

Sandrine rolled her eyes.  "You've got _how _many guards around here?  Besides, we left him alone at Midnight and he did just fine.  Stop being a crankypants about this."  She pointed at Anya's prone form on the floor.  "She's bleeding on your carpet, by the way."

Gold flashed in Iris' eyes as she grabbed a box of tissues from a nearby shelf and threw them at Anya.  "Clean yourself up," she snarled.

Brown eyes glared at the other women in the room as she reached for the tissue, wiping at the blood that dripped down the side of her face.  "You should really consider investing in hardwood floors," she said coldly.  "They're much better on the pocketbook for when you need to clean up after all those messy magic spells that make the poor humans bleed all over the place."

"Oh, stop whining, Anya," Sandrine said with a scowl.  "You didn't bleed because of the truth spell.  You bled because it was fun for me to kick you over.  Be grateful I'm in such a good mood right now.  I could've set you on fire like I did to Spike."

"Well, that truth spell wasn't exactly a bed of roses," Anya muttered.

"It's your own fault.  If you'd just told me where the skull was in the first place, none of this would've happened.  But no.  You had to be Miss Holier Than Thou and stick to your guns, which, coming from the girl who ran from high school graduation?  Hello?  Big shock there."  Her gaze swept over the black gown.  "Betcha Buffy gets pissy because you ripped her dress."

"_You_ ripped it!"

"Because you wouldn't lie still."

"I'm sorry if I get a little squirmy when being coerced into spilling secrets I'd rather not share."

Sandrine's eyes narrowed.  "I think my good mood is starting to wear off," she warned, and sat up, deliberately flexing her fingers so that Anya could see.  "Maybe a little inferno by numbers might cheer me up."

"As much as I love having bonfires in the middle of my living room…"  Iris' lips were curled back into a sneer, eyes glittering.  "…don't we have a staff to be retrieving?"

"Right."  Lazily, Sandrine rose to her feet.  "You were really dumb about hiding it, you know that, right?" she said, nudging Anya with the toe of her shoe.  "Access to thousands of dimensions and you leave it in this one?"  She clicked her tongue, shaking her head in reproval.  "Dumb with a capital D."

"Are you coming or not?"  As the vampire strode for the door, Freddie darted out of her path, pressing into the farthest wall, completely motionless for fear of doing anything that might set either of them off.  "I've had a car waiting outside since your boy toy dropped the bitch off."

"I'll give _you_ bitch," Anya muttered.  When Sandrine looked down at her, however, she averted her eyes, staring at a suddenly fascinating spot on the floor beside her.

In the doorway, the redhead paused, watching Iris disappear down the hall before turning a venomous face to Freddie.  "Don't let any of those fangfaces anywhere near her," she ordered, indicating Anya. "I don't know what Iris told them, but until I have the voix mortelle back in my hands in one piece, I need her to stay alive.   Anything happens to her, and I'm holding you personally responsible."

The room was silent after she left, echoing her threats between its walls for only its occupants to hear.  "You are so dead," Anya finally said as she managed to pull herself up into a sitting position.  Her gaze was calm as she stared at the pale young man, his eyes wide and dark, sweat beading on his brow in spite of the air conditioning that cooled the room.  "If you come out of this with any of your insides actually still on the inside, I'll eat my hat."

"Shut up," he said, but there was no strength behind the command.

"Maybe you'll get lucky and she'll just let Iris eat you," she mused.  "Of course, then you have to worry about being turned, and becoming a bloodsucking fiend that gets hunted down by the Slayer, but hey!  That's not really that different from right now, is it?  Except for the fact that you're actually still alive, that is."

"I said, shut up."  A little harsher this time, and Anya could see the flaring of his nostrils as his breath began to quicken.

"It doesn't have to be this way, you know," she said.  "Buffy found me pretty darn fast over at Midnight.  It's probably not going to take her long to find me again."

"Won't matter if you're dead, now will it?"

"But I won't be.  You heard Sandrine.  She needs me in case her little truth spell didn't work."  She snorted.  "Which it did, of course.  I can't believe I was so stupid not to just give it back to D'Hoffryn in the first place.  Then I wouldn't even be in this mess."

For the first time, Freddie seemed interested in something she had to say.  "Who's D'Hoffryn?" he asked.

"My old boss.  The original owner of the voix mortelle.  The one who'd do just about anything to get it back."

He seemed to crumple at this.  "So, he's a demon, too, then?"

"Kingpin of the vengeance world," she confirmed.  "So if you think dealing with a pissed off Sandrine is touchy, just wait until D'Hoffryn finds out she's got the other half of the staff.  _Nobody_ does vengeance like him."

"Great," Freddie muttered, and slid down the wall to sit on the floor, putting his head in his hands.  "Just great."

No longer able to see him, Anya sat up, grimacing slightly as her aching body silently complained, and eased herself onto the sofa to look over its back at him.  "Whatever happened to my purse?" she asked.

The query took him by surprise, and he lifted his head to stare at her.  "What purse?" Freddie said, his voice a little too loud, a little too clear.

It was the only confirmation she needed.  "It had a phone in it.  And in its memory, is the number of the phone Xander and Giles and Buffy are using.  You could---."

"Don't even suggest it."

"If you haven't guessed by now, Sandrine is pretty much gone over the deep end.  If she actually summons Sira, she's going to be ten times harder to beat.  Toss D'Hoffryn into the mix, and things are going to start getting ugly.  If we get out of here now, Buffy can---."

"I said, don't!"

Freddie's face was flushed, his hands shaking as he rubbed at his eyes, as if that simple movement would clear his head.  He was a wreck, fear clinging to him with a ferocious tenacity that would've been contagious if she wasn't already terrified out of her mind.  The only difference between them right now was that Anya was used to being fearful of her losing her life.  Living on a Hellmouth had a tendency to do that to a person.

"Buffy would protect you," she pressed.  "Even if she didn't like you, she'd still make sure you were safe.  You should see what she's done for Spike, and he's not even human.  At least…consider the option, Freddie. Getting killed by Sandrine because she decides you're expendable?  Or, getting a lecture on how not to be evil from the Slayer but coming out of this whole mess alive?  The choice is yours."

*************

They were huddled over the map, watching as Spike drew circles around three different street blocks.  "According to my sources, she gets bored," he said to the group.  "And she's got enough dosh to have more than one hidey-hole around town.  These were the only three I could get confirmation on.  They're all high-class, low-profile kind of places."  

"If I get close enough," Tara said, "I'm pretty sure I'd be able to tell if Sandrine was near, or had been there.  Her magic leaves a very distinctive signature."

"I don't want to split up to check them out," Buffy said, shaking her head.  "I'm not risking losing anyone else."

"We don't have to," Spike said.  "You three sit in the back of the Desoto and the witch sits in the front.  Weapons go in the boot."

Giles frowned.  "Why are _you_ driving?"

 "Because I know this town.  And because I'm not spending the afternoon under a blanket if I don't have to."

"But you don't have air-conditioning," Buffy said with a grimace.

"You've got your little fan---."

"Why does Spike even have to go?" asked Xander.

"Do we need to have our talk again about Spike being a member of this team now?" the Slayer shot back.  "Besides, if it comes to a fight, I want him---."

The muffled ringing of the phone took them all by surprise, cutting Buffy off as all heads swiveled to Xander's pants.

He fumbled as he pulled the cell from his pocket, its ring growing louder as it cleared the fabric, and froze as he saw the number splashed across its display.  "It's Anya," he murmured, and broke out into a wide smile of relief as he hit the "talk" button.

To Be Continued in Chapter 30:  Springsville…


	30. Springsville

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.  And the chapter titles are courtesy of Miles Davis.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Sandrine has used a truth spell on Anya to retrieve the skull portion of the voix mortelle, while Anya has been trying to convince Freddie that he's better off turning himself over to Buffy…

*************

Spike's brow inched higher with each new addition to the bed, his amused gaze jumping from an intent Giles to Xander's laden arms.  "And you _flew_ here," he observed as a third sword was laid out with its mates.

"Yes."  Giles frowned, noticing a cracked trigger on the crossbow Xander handed to him next.  "When did this get broken?" he asked the young man.

"That would be when our sewer friend decided to introduce it to my face."

A duffel of stakes was emptied with a clatter onto the bedspread.

Spike's grin was spontaneous.  "And you _flew_ here?" he repeated, folding his arms across his chest.

"I believe I already answered that question," Giles replied.  "And what on earth are you finding so funny?"

Behind him, the door opened, and Tara and Buffy entered the hotel room, the witch carrying the pair of charms from Clara, the Slayer with another armload of weapons.  When his head swiveled to see them, Spike bark of laughter was sharp.

"How in bloody hell did you get all that through airport security?" he demanded.  "Stakes, sure.  Maybe even a small blade or something."  He picked up the nearest sword and gave it a full swing, narrowly missing slicing the front of Xander's shirt open.  "But these sort of things tend to draw a little attention," he finished.

The Watcher looked uncomfortable at the query, turning his back on the vampire to keep from looking at him, busying himself with trying to fix the broken crossbow.  "There are…ways," he said.  "I'm accustomed to traveling with quite a few…irregular items."

"Quite a few, huh?  Looks more like a medieval arsenal, if you ask me.  C'mon, Rupes, spill.  You _had_ to have some sort of juicy story to try and explain all this."  A deft flick of his wrist with the blade knocked the crossbow from Giles' unsuspecting hands, causing the Watcher to curse under his breath as he leaned over to pick it up.

 "This is hardly the time for this," he muttered as he straightened.

"Aw, you might as well tell me," Spike said.  He was enjoying this far too much.  What had started as a simple wonder had evolved into a gleeful malice when it became apparent the other Englishman didn't want to share the story.  He hadn't had a chance to wind Rupert up this much since that whole Adam debacle.  This could be fun.  "You know I'm just goin' to bang on about this until you do," he continued with a grin.

When he lifted the sword to pretend to jab at Giles again, Buffy stepped forward, effortlessly disarming him though her eyes were dancing playfully.  "Let it go, Spike," she warned.  "It's not nice to menace the wound-up Watcher.  They get a little grouchy when you do that."

"I'm not grouchy," Giles argued.  "I'm…intent."

"I don't see why he's got such a stick up his ass about it," Spike said.  He tilted his head as he regarded the Watcher.  "Did you tell 'em you were planning a museum exhibit or something?  Although, that might not explain all the stakes."  He sniffed pointedly.  "Also doesn't explain why they reek of tannis.  Did you spill your magic supplies or something?  'Cause the only use I know for tannis outside of healing is for hiding something, and I _know_ you're not daft enough to try and pull the wool over an entire airport of prying eyes.  Not without Red around to back you up."

Picking up one of the stakes, Spike was thoughtful as he twirled it in the air, missing the look exchanged by Giles and Tara.  "Oh!  I know," he said.  "You're the stakemaster for a club of tent makers, and you were bringin' them here for your annual convent---."

Buffy's slap on his arm shut him up.  "I said, let it go."

Rubbing at the spot, he feigned being in pain with a scowl.  "Right lot of fun you are, Slayer," he groused, but stepped back anyway, dropping to sprawl in the chair, the stake twisting between his fingers.

Giles cleared his throat.  "Back to the matter at hand," he said.  "Since Freddie was unclear as to how many guards Iris actually has around her apartment---."

"I'll wager a lot," Spike interjected.  "Of the three spots I got info on, that's the one she outright owns.  There's probably demons galore hangin' about."

"We need to split up," Buffy said.  "Two teams.  One goes in the back, one goes in the front.  Freddie said the entrance to the tunnels was off the furnace room so we have to make sure that stays covered in case they decide to sneak Anya away again."

"The back'll be darker 'cause of the alley," Spike said.  "That'll be mine."

"That leaves the front for me," the Slayer said.  At the curious lift of his eyebrow, she said to the vamp, "We can't go in together, Spike.  You and I are the strongest fighters, and since you shouldn't run into any humans except for Anya and Freddie, you should be all right on your own."

"I'll go with him."  Everyone, including Spike, looked at Tara in surprise.  

"No offense, kitten, but you're best off not goin' at all," Spike said.  "Not that it thrills me to have to be saddled with Harris or Rupert, but they've had a bit more experience at this sort of thing than you have."

"But Buffy said, no more leaving people alone," Tara argued.  "And if all you're going to be doing is guarding the back way out, I won't really be in the middle of too much of the fighting.  Not as much as Buffy will, at least."

"She's got a point," the Slayer said.  Spike watched as she struggled to overcome the initial shock at the statement, a quick nip of her bottom lip followed by a rapid nod of her head as she conceded the witch's argument.  Their talk about his budding friendship with Tara had only superficially eased her feelings of jealousy, he could tell.  In spite of her confession to him the night before, she still wasn't comfortable with the idea of sharing him.  Maybe _because_ of her confession, he thought.

"Plus, I can sense Sandrine's magic," Tara went on.  "I'll be able to tell if she's on her way back so we don't get ambushed."

"I trust that Spike is more than capable of protecting Tara, as well," Giles said.  "He's certainly proven he has the…wherewithal to do so.  And weren't you the one who was only telling me yesterday that we can trust him?" 

She nodded.  "That settles it then," she said.  "Xander, Giles, and I will go in one car to handle the front and do the rescue, while Spike and Tara will go in his heap---."

"Clas_-sic_---."

"---and cover the back and the tunnels," she finished, ignoring the vampire's annoyed interjection with a grin. "Time to get Operation Spring Anya on the road, I think."

Will wonders never cease, Spike mused as he gathered his blanket from by the door and waited for Tara to finish as she tucked holy water and a stake into her over-sized purse.  He'd fully expected to get some sort of cutting down from the Watcher for his taunting about the weapons, and yet, it had never come.  Rupert had even gone so far as express his support for Spike as a contributory member of the team.  If he didn't know better, he'd swear someone had cast some sort of spell over the other Englishman.

In some ways, it was like that night last fall, when everyone had been held fast by Red's will-be-done mojo.  Part of the group.  Buffy loving him.  Him loving Buffy, even if he and Tara were the only ones who knew that particular part.  Wonder if Rupert would be so open-minded about it if he caught us in the middle of the same smacking he complained about last time, he wondered.  That would be an interesting theory to test, not to mention fun.

Still, he couldn't deny the current circumstances offered the hope of something better.  Something he hadn't achieved the first time.  This time, he wasn't the obsequious toady sucking up to the potential daddy-in-law.  This time, if he dared to think about it, he could be his own man, holding his own within the dynamic, capable of doing anything he wanted, whether it was poke fun at Rupert or stand at the witch's side in battle.  He wouldn't have thought it was possible before, but seeing them all here, hearing the words that came from their mouths, the potential was too hard to resist.  It just might work out after all.

*************

"You haven't told her yet, have you?"

He hadn't even been able to turn over the ignition before the question had popped from Tara's mouth.  Ignoring her words, he leaned over and popped open the glove compartment, extracting the small fan.  "Here," he said, dropping it in her lap.  "In case you get hot."

Her fingers played with the rotary blades.  "You're avoiding the issue, Spike," she said.  

"It's not like I've had miles of opportunity since we last spoke, you know."  Still wasn't going to look at her.  She would have that stubborn face he was beginning to recognize.  One she must've nicked off of Red.  It was easier to be evasive if he just concentrated on the road.  Or on starting the damn car in the first place.

"What about when you went back to your room to make the calls?"

"Slayer had other stuff she wanted to talk about."

"Oh?  Like what?"

The corner of his mouth lifted, and Spike had to resist the urge to glance over.  "You."

"Me?  What did I do?"

"You were nice to me.  She didn't know what to make of it."  He chuckled.  "You can relax, kitten.  All's right in the world.  I'm planning on lettin' her know about the chip tonight.  After she tells the rest of you lot about her and me bein' together now."

"Did you at least tell her you loved her?"

His silence was her only answer.

At his side, Tara sighed as he pulled the car out of the parking lot.  "You can't have a good reason not to tell her that," she scolded.  "Don't tell me you're scared."

"Hardly.  Just think it's more suited for a bit more romance than, 'By the by, love you, Slayer.'  It's all a matter of timing."

"Well, I think your timing bites the big one."

This time he looked at her.  "_You're_ goin' to be the one gettin' the biting if you keep nagging me like this," he warned with a definitive tease.  "And since when are you so bound and determined to be Little Miss Matchmaker, eh?  You were fine with me sussing it out for myself before Buffy and the rest came back from their mission impossible."

The flickering of the purple blades took hold as Tara turned it on, its soft whir filling the car.  When she held it up to her face to cool it, there was no mistaking the shadow of a smile on her lips.  "I guess I'm just in a good mood," she said softly.  "I think…this is the first time since she went missing, that I think Willow's really going to be all right."  A glance at him through her lashes, and then her gaze was back on her lap.  "I-I-I was so scared, and I didn't want to think it, but for a while there, I was beginning to lose hope.  I mean, this doesn't necessarily get us Willow back, or stop Sandrine from using the voix mortelle, but it's a forward step when all we've been doing lately is going sideways or backward.  And forward is good, right?"

Awkwardly, Spike's hand reached out to pat her knee.  "Red's goin' to be fine," he assured, mimicking the words he'd used on Buffy.  "And as long as that prat Freddie isn't two-timing us with Sandrine, we should have what it takes to get everyone home, safe as houses."

Her head jerked up at the latter part of his words.  "You don't think…this could all be a trap, do you?" she asked, her eyes wide.  Obviously, the possibility hadn't occurred to her.

Spike shook his head.  "I think Buffy would've been able to tell from talkin' to her if she was bein' set up or something.  We just have to get them out from Iris' thumb so the tosser will start giving us enough to stop the summoning and get Red back."

She settled back in her seat, now lost in thoughts of life as normal with her girlfriend.  Inwardly, the vampire sighed in relief at the respite.  Her questions were starting to make him regret not being upfront with Buffy when he had the chance.  What was wrong with telling the woman you loved about your feelings?  Well, maybe if she didn't love you back, but he'd had it straight from the Slayer's lips so that wasn't the issue.  So, no more excuses.  No more waiting.  Ok, a little bit of waiting.  Couldn't very well do it if she wasn't even in the car with him, now could he?  

Once they got Harris' girl back to the hotel.  He'd tell her then.  Even if it meant havin' to say it in front of all of her friends.

*************

Getting into the building was a doddle, which Spike decided was a good thing since the alley proved to be much brighter than he'd originally given it credit for.  Leaving the Desoto parked near the dumpsters, he'd refused to let Tara get out of the car until he'd reached the door, just in case some non-sunlight-sensitive nasties were lurking about.  Once there, though, he'd stood within the shadows of the threshold and scanned the area, not sensing anything amiss before he gave her the go-ahead to join him.

The back entrance led into the service area, and Spike vamped out in order to navigate the lightless room without the need for alerting anyone to their presence by turning on the overheads.  Behind him, Tara clutched her holy water in one hand and his duster in the other, tripping only slightly as he led her through the darkness.  They were both silent, nerves already starting to accelerate in anticipation, albeit for different reasons---Spike's because a good fight was always worth the trouble, and Tara's because getting Anya back meant one step closer to Willow's return.

Their luck ran out as soon as they stepped from the furnace room.  Hesitating just before he opened the door, Spike heard the indistinct shuffle of a footstep, a moldy smell bereft of humanity.  Demon.  Not that it would've made a difference given his current chipless state, but it was nice to know what he was going up against.

Putting his finger to his lips, he motioned for Tara to remain quiet, and waited, fingers tense on the knob, until the step was just outside.  The shove open was quick, slamming into the body on the other side to send it crashing into the opposite wall.  Spike pounced, plunging his stake into the felled vampire before it could rise again.

"One down," he said, and swiveled to see the trio approaching from the end of the hall.

"And lots more to go," Tara said.

*************

"Where are they?" Freddie complained as he paced the length of the room.  "We called _ages_ ago."

"They'll be here."  She sounded more sure than she felt.  Though she trusted in Buffy's ability to do the right thing, having heard Freddie's admission on the phone that he had absolutely no clue how many vampires were actually in the building, she was beginning to wonder if maybe there had been too many even for the Slayer.  Of course, it wasn't just her.  She had the others for back-up, as well as Spike, and according to what she'd heard, they were only on the third floor.  It shouldn't be that hard to get to her.

But if that was true, why in hell weren't they here yet?

"This was a bad idea.  _Baaad_ idea, _baaad_ idea," Freddie was chanting under his breath as he moved.  "Sandrine's going to have both of our heads.  Hell, how much you wanna bet she makes me slit my _own _throat?"

"Stop over-reacting," Anya scolded.  "She'll probably just set you on fire or something.  She definitely exhibits some latent pyro tendencies."  

Shouts emanated from the hall, jerking Freddie to a standstill and Anya to her feet.  She smiled at him smugly as the walls rattled, an expensive mirror next to the door loosening from its hook to crash to the floor.  "_That_ would be Buffy," she announced.

Her words were enough to shake him from his arrest, and he bolted to the door.  Before he could reach it, though, it splintered from the frame, a vampire flying through the now-gaping hole to crumple to a heap when it met the far wall.  Freddie shrank back, alarm shining in his eyes as he scrabbled along the furniture, and watched as the Slayer rushed in, stake driving through the demon's ribcage, the dust spraying through the air to settle into a fine mist along the carpet.

"Took you long enough," Anya said.

"It's good to see you, too," Buffy replied, tucking her stake into her waistband.  She frowned as the other girl approached, her eyes scanning her lithe form.  "What happened to my dress?"

"A redhead with a massive superiority complex," the ex-demon replied.  She gestured toward the door.  "Can we go now?  I'd rather not be around when she decides to come back."

"You must be Freddie," Buffy said to the cowering young man.  "Do you have any idea how much trouble you've caused?"  She grimaced.  "God, I'm channeling my mother.  Someone shoot me now."

"Nice to meet you," he stammered, and stuck out his hand.

A lift of her eyebrows, and a glance at Anya.  "Is he for real?"

"I'm afraid so."  She pointed to the clock on the wall.  "Tick tock, Buffy."

"Right."  Taking Freddie firmly by the arm, the Slayer led him from the room, running into a breathless Giles and Xander in the hallway.

"Xander!" Anya called out.  She rushed forward to meet him, a wide smile on her face, only to stop halfway there, remembrance of their last encounter rankling within her memory.  Still mad at him, she reminded himself, and affected a nonchalance as she folded her arms across her chest.  "Xander," she repeated in a much cooler tone.

"Are you all right?" he asked, and ignored her seeming indifference to step forward and pull her into a close hug.

Her ill-will dissipated upon contact with his warm chest, and Anya's arms crept around his waist.  "Other than feeling like I've been hit by a truck and being in desperate need of a shower and clean clothes, I'm just fine," she replied.

"Escape now.  Hygiene later," Buffy said.

"The lift…is clear," Giles heaved between gasps.  

"Good."  Shoving Freddie toward her Watcher, Buffy was halfway to the elevator before her words reached their ears.  "Get them back to the hotel," she ordered.  "I'm going to make sure Spike and Tara are OK."

*************

He was beginning to wish he'd opted to go in the front.  Have I tapped into some demon pipeline here? Spike wondered as he blocked an awkward punch from the seventh vampire he'd faced since emerging from the furnace room.  Behind him, Tara was hovering with the bottle of holy water she had ready, waiting for an opening so that she could help.  She was wary of using it; when the fifth one had attacked, she'd jumped to the fore, spraying the demon in the face just as Spike's fist connected with its jaw.  His scream of pain was accompanied by a distinct sizzling, and she'd cringed at the amber glare he'd shot her as he staked it.

He was still fighting through the pain, though, and her eyes kept darting from his scorched hand to the face of the current vampire blocking the exit to the rest of the building.  A grim shove from Spike landed his opponent back against the door, but as the blond pinned him in place, pulling the stake from his pocket to dust him, a quiet rap came from the other side of the door.

Everyone froze.  "Since when do you vampires knock?" Tara asked.

"Hello?"  The voice was faint, but clear, and Spike smirked as his gaze locked with the other demon.  "It sounds like there's something going on in there," Buffy said, overly innocent.  "Can I come in?"

"Sorry, mate," Spike said.  "But you are officially standin' in the way of me and my girl."

He didn't even wait for the dust to settle before he pulled it open to see the Slayer standing on the other side with a curious smile on her face.  "Did I miss the party?" she asked.  "Damn.  And it sounded like a good one, too."

"I take your presence down here means your little operation was a success."

"The patient is most definitely going to live," Buffy quipped, and glanced down at the dust around her feet.  "So was that one it?  Don't tell me I was busting my butt upstairs with the army of darkness and all you had to fight was one little vampire."

"Hey!  I'll have you know there was a half-dozen---."

"Seven," Tara corrected.

"---_seven_ vamps who met the right end of this stake, luv," Spike finished.  

When he held up the weapon to emphasize his point, Buffy noticed for the first time the splattering of burns across the back of his hand, and frowned, taking it in her own to look at them more closely.  "What happened?"

"'S'nothin'," he said.  "Just got caught unawares at one point."

"I have some cream out in the car," Tara said, backing away from the pair.  "I brought it with the first aid kit, just in case.  I'll just…go get it."

Neither Spike nor Buffy was fully aware of the witch's stealthy exit.  "You should be more careful," she scolded, but there was no malice in her tone as her fingers skated over the crimson splotches.  "What is it with you and getting burned?"

"Like to live dangerously, I s'pose," he said.  The flutter of her pulse, echoing through her fingertips into his hand, created an accordant tattoo inside his own flesh, and his eyes softened as he noticed for the first time the flush in her cheeks, the dishevelment of her hair as loose strands from her ponytail framed her face.  A glitter rose in the green as she looked up at him, and he could smell the musk of arousal stemming from her skin, his cock hardening in response. "Wasn't expectin' you to come down here and check up on me, though," he murmured.

She shrugged, fingers absently stroking the leather of his sleeve.  "I couldn't just leave without knowing everyone was OK.  Without knowing…_you_ were OK."

When his lips met hers, the unspoken words guided his tongue, tangling with hers even as he fought to keep it gentle.  Her hands fisted into his shirt, and though she tried to deepen the caress, he refused her, pressing her back onto the wall until his body was desperate to meld with her hers.  

Her small breasts were heaving when his mouth left hers, and Spike reached up to cup her face in his hands, long fingers tickling the loose hair at her neck, one thumb quivering across her swollen bottom lip.  "Should've said this earlier," he said softly.  "And bugger me for bein' a fool in not.  But…just…want you to…"  His head dropped, his brow resting against hers as his lashes drifted closed.  "I love you, Buffy," he breathed.

The distinct speeding up of her heart accompanied the flush that permeated her skin.  "I love you, too, Spike," she replied, and then smiled against his touch.  "Just remember who said it first."

To be continued in Chapter 31: When I Fall in Love…


	31. When I Fall in Love

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.  And the chapter titles are courtesy of Miles Davis.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  The gang has rescued Anya and Freddie from Sandrine's clutches; Spike has told Buffy that he loves her but hasn't yet confessed the truth about the chip…

*************

As delicious as the scalding hot shower had felt when she'd started it, now, with the steam so thick in the bath Anya was convinced it would be visibly sticking to her skin should she peel away the towel to look, she was anxious to escape the small room and breathe more freely in the cool hotel air.  The aches within her body were receding, and while the scrape across her brow from where she'd hit it on Sandrine's cairn that morning smarted as she wrapped the other white towel around her wet hair, it was minor compared to the relief she felt at being rescued.  

Not that she hadn't thought it was going to happen.  OK, maybe that was a little fib.  Lying sprawled at Sandrine's feet, bleeding all over the carpet, staying optimistic when she was used to seeing the bad in a situation had been about as likely as staying awake during one of Giles' lectures on demon history.  Would that man _ever_ remember she'd been a demon herself for well over a millennium?

But Freddie had finally seen reason and called Buffy.  And she'd never been so glad to see the Slayer in her entire life.

They were questioning him right now, but Anya had begged off, her disheveled state granting her a stay of execution from the inquisition, disappearing to her and Tara's room to clean up.  All she'd wanted was to wash away the detritus of the past twenty-four hours, and maybe spend a few minutes fantasizing she was anywhere but in New Orleans at the moment.  

It had worked to a degree, but now it was time to step back into the real world.  Time to face the most recent apocalypse.  And maybe get some answers on how to help Willow at the same time.

She squeaked in startled shock when she opened the door, stopping short when she saw Xander sitting on the edge of the nearest bed watching her.  "What are you doing here?" she demanded, pulling her towel even closer around her.  "Don't tell me they're done with Freddie already."

"I don't know," Xander admitted.  "I snuck out of there about five minutes after you left.  I was hoping we could talk, but you were already in there," he gestured toward the steam-filled room behind her, "so I decided to wait you out."

"Oh."  A glimmer of hope began to spark inside her chest, but Anya squelched the desire to smile in relief.  Part of her shower fantasies had included a ski lodge, being snowbound, and a contrite Xander waiting on her hand and foot, but she'd known even as she'd imagined his scraping and bowing as he peeled her grapes that it was just a dream.  She just wasn't as important as Willow to him.

"Did it help?" he asked as she skirted him and the bed to get to the dresser.

"Did what help?"

"The shower.  Cleaning up.  Do you…feel better now?"

She shrugged as nonchalantly as she could manage.  "I feel clean now, if that's what you mean."  Her fingers trailed over the black satin, where the dress she'd been wearing sat crumpled into a ball on the dresser.  "You don't think Buffy will make me pay for this, do you?" she mused with a frown.  "I'd hope not.  After all, she didn't exactly pay for it herself.  It wouldn't really be fair to expect me to reimburse her for it."

"I think she's just glad we got you home in it while you were still breathing, Ahn."  His voice was so quiet, so reserved compared to its usual jocularity, and she couldn't resist sneaking a peek at him over her shoulder.  Not even a shadow of his usual grin graced his lean features, and his brown eyes were darker in gravity.  "_I'm_ glad you're home still breathing," he added.

"Have you…found out any way to stop Sandrine yet?" she asked.  It wasn't what she wanted to say, but fear held her in its thrall, driving her tongue to address the mundane and not the questions that lingered inside her gut.

"We haven't even been trying since she got you last night.  We've just been concentrating on getting you back.  We even got the Chipped Wonder to help out on it."  He rose to his feet, hesitating only when she took a step away from him, pressing herself into the dresser.  "I am so sorry, Anya," Xander said.  "I should never have…"  He stopped, the specifics of what it was he shouldn't have done escaping him.  "It shouldn't have happened," he finished lamely.

"You're right.  It shouldn't have."

Her words brought a flinch behind his eyes, but her satisfaction with it was fleeting.  Why wasn't hurting him, even a fraction of how much he'd hurt her, making her feel better? she wondered.  She stood there awkwardly, tugging at the corner of her towel to tighten its tuck, and felt the flush creep upward from her neck when his head dropped.

"And here I thought anything you might say couldn't make me feel worse than I already do," he said in a low voice.  "Color me stupid."

Her cheeks burned as the heat finished its trail.  She had a funny feeling that this was what shame felt like; did she really have to be so hard on him when he was trying to make her feel better?

"Were you with Buffy this morning?" she asked, her tone deliberately lighter.  "Is that why your face looks like a Monet painting?"

His eyes lifted then, and she caught the ghost of a smile returning to his lips.  "And here I was hoping for Picasso," he joked.

"Your nose would be on the side of your head then.  Not really the most attractive of looks.  Although I did know this guy once whose wife actually found him more appealing after I put his penis on his---."

"I get the picture," he hastily interrupted, wiping his grimace at the image it produced as quickly as possible.  Taking a deep breath, Xander stepped forward, and this time, she didn't move away.  "Like I was saying," he said.  "I'm sorry we didn't get to you in time.  And I know, broken record here on the sorries, but I've never felt so---."

"I know.  It's all right.  You don't have to keep saying it."  Well, it would've been nice if he would, but she had to be willing to give on something here.

One hand reached up to tentatively grasp her upper arm, his thumb stroking her damp skin.  His exuberance of earlier was gone, replaced by this gentle hesitation, a fear of hurting her more, especially as most of her bruises were now beginning to bloom just as deeply as his.  When the gooseflesh erupted along her arms, Anya shivered, almost swaying to close even more of the distance between them.

"When I realized you were gone," he said, and she looked up to see the deep brown of his eyes fixed intently on hers, "something inside me clicked.  Like…it made sense."

"Me going missing made sense to you?"  Maybe she'd been too quick to stop that string of I'm sorry's.  Her voice was rising, taking on that whiny tone even she hated, but… "It made _sense_?" she repeated.

"No, no, that's not what I meant.  I mean, it did, but not in the way you're thinking."  Xander's hand dropped, leaving her feel oddly bereft in spite of the return of her anger.  "I just…it wasn't until then…damn it, how I do explain this?"  Another deep breath.  "When Willow went missing, you saw how I reacted to that, but that was because I knew what her place in my life was, what it had always been.  But when _you_ weren't there…"  And it was back, only this time when he touched her, she could feel the tremor in his fingers, as though fear was squeezing his wrist and cutting off his circulation.  

"What?"  Her heart was pounding in her chest, a combination of anticipation of his coming words and the heat of his hand.  She missed him---god, how she missed him---but how could she even consider letting him back into her bed when he still didn't get it?  Except his words were clouding the certainty she'd believed that up until a few minutes ago.  And god, did he smell good.

"Even when we were fighting, after Will was gone, you were still there, so I didn't have to think about what it might be like if you weren't.  I wasn't…_forced _to think about it.  And then when I _was_…god, Anya…I didn't know everything---_life_---could be so boring.  And empty.  You can't not be there.  I _need_ you."  He swallowed, and she was mesmerized by the graceful bob in his throat, unsolicited memories of other talents his mouth possessed crowding in to confuse her befuddled head even further.  "I love you, Anya."

She'd been so rapt in the remembrances, she almost missed the last.  "You…_what_ me?" she asked, eyes wide.  Oh good, the whine was gone.  Now she sounded like Tiny Tim except without the helium effect.

"I love you," Xander repeated.  "That's what finally made sense.  I didn't know it until you weren't there.  And then seeing you today, even just hearing you on the phone, you have no idea how relieved I was.  Because I knew I had to tell you as soon as possible."

"As soon as possible would've been at Iris'," she said faintly, not even aware that she was arguing with him as she stood there transfixed.

He smiled.  "Covered in vampire dust and looking like I'd just been pummeled by The Rock?"  He shook his head.  "That might be Spike's idea of romantic but that's not mine.  I wanted to wait until it was just you and me."

"You love me."  It wasn't what she'd been expecting him to say.  More apologies, more lame explanations on why Willow was so important to him, those would've been expected.  How had he managed to surprise her so thoroughly?  "You love me," she said again, this time with a small smile.  A nice surprise, though.  A very nice surprise.

"I love you," Xander said, laughing at her obvious shock.  Gingerly, his arms slid around her back, tugging at the end of the towel wound around her hair so that it fell with a damp thud to the floor.  "Please don't leave me again," he murmured as he tucked a loose strand behind her ear.  

Anya was mute as his lips, soft and probing, descended to hers, her arms lifting automatically to wrap around his neck.  He resisted her urgency, battling her tongue's attack with a slide across her cheek, and her eyes flickered shut as he pulled her tight against him, for the first time ignoring the bruises on both of their bodies.  The whimper that escaped her throat when his mouth began sucking at her throat was both a measure of her desire and her pain.

"I should…still be mad at you…you know," she panted, fingers curling into his hair.

"I know," he said against her skin.  

She gasped when his teeth caught her earlobe.  "Just because you said, I love you, doesn't mean that…everything's now…all right."

"I know."

His tongue swirled the inner shell of her ear, and Anya's hard nipples rubbed against the rough terry of her towel as she pressed herself harder into him.  "Sex doesn't…solve everything," she breathed.

That made him pull away, a wide grin splitting his face.  "You sure you didn't get a concussion when you hit your head?" he asked jokingly.  "Because now I _know_ you're just playing with me." 

She grinned in kind and shrugged.  "Yeah, but it sounded good."  One hand grabbed his, pulling him toward the bed, while her other yanked the towel from her body.  "I think we're way behind on orgasms," she said, and toppled with him onto the bed.  "Time for you to start trying to catch me up."

*************

There was no way in hell he'd ever admit it out loud, but at that exact moment in time, Spike was wishing that it was Harris pacing around the room nattering on about nothing and everything instead of that prat Freddie.  Every other word out of the tosser's mouth was a complaint, or some barmy story, or a piece of nonsense that didn't even make sense to the Watcher, and in spite of Buffy and Giles' attempts to keep the young man focused, his effortless slides into tangents was making Harris look like Stephen Hawking.

They'd been able to glean a few details from him---confirmation that Sandrine wanted to summon Sira in order to establish a power base here in New Orleans, her snatching of Anya to learn the location of the crown portion of the voix mortelle, the fact that she had yet to retrieve the staff half of it.  But other parts, some twaddle he kept coming back to about losing his best friend and how he was certain to rot in hell, only made Freddie's babble rise in incoherence, his nerves skittering like a virgin on her wedding night.

And if Spike had to listen to one more minute of it, he was going to thump the lad and say bugger off to any hopes of getting any sense from him, the witch's fate be damned.

The smell of sunset had never been more appealing, and as soon as its siren call reached the vampire's nose, he was on his feet, his hand on the door, very much in a repeat of the previous night when he'd stormed out after listening to them have a go at Buffy.  This time, though, it wasn't the Slayer who stopped him.

"Where are you going?" Giles asked, looking up from his notepad to see Spike standing in the doorway squinting up at the dusky sky.

"I believe the word you're lookin' for is out, Rupert," he said.

"But we're not done here."

"And I'm doin' what exactly?  Not that sittin' around, twiddling my thumbs and lookin' pretty doesn't mean a grand night out for these old bones, but I've got better things to be doin' with my time than watching you try and put a cork on Freddie the Freeloader here."

"Like what?"

"Like eating, for starters."  He caught Giles' frowning glance at the clock, and smirked when the other Englishman flushed.

"Oh, dear Lord, I hadn't even realized."  He looked up, obviously flustered.  "I normally rely on Xander's stomach rumbling to remind me…"  A pause as his gaze swept the room.  "Where _is_ Xander?"

"Scarpered off about five minutes after this whole charade started," Spike replied.  "Never thought I'd say it, but I think Harris might be the smartest of the lot of you right about now."

"Why would you say that?"  This was from Tara, the first thing she'd really had to say since returning from Iris'.

"Because he's either eating or makin' up with his vengeance bird, and if he's not totally daft, he's doin' both."  He straightened his shoulders, tossing Buffy a knowing look before stepping outside.  "I'll be in my room if he actually decides to be helpful for a change."

He didn't even have to pause on the balcony.  Within seconds of him closing the door, it opened again and Buffy slipped out, stopping short when she saw him waiting for her.  

"Big dramatic exits work a helluva lot better if I don't run into you on the other side," she complained, folding her arms across her chest.

His head tilted, the distant sound of a phone being dialed reaching his ears.  "Not so dramatic when I know your Watcher just called a dinner break," he drawled.

"He did not," she argued.  "I told him you were right and walked out."

"And that's why he's in there ordering a pizza…"  He paused, listening.  "…with ham, pineapple, and extra cheese?" he finished.  

Both of their mouths quirked at the same time.  "You can be a real spoilsport, you know that?"

"Just don't want you to start thinking you can pull the wool over these eyes whenever you fancy, pet."

His irritation with the interrogation was dissipating, the rush and glow from the post-battle moments at Iris' apartment building returning to settle somewhere inside his torso, oddly concentrated in two very distinct spots both above and below his belt.  Not a word had been said on the car trip home, Buffy much more reserved in front of Tara in spite of the witch's knowing the truth, and Spike had settled on the satin touch of the back of her hand under his fingertips as he drove back to the hotel.  Once there, questioning Freddie had driven away any talk of who was together with who and who was currently without any hardware in his head.  Little things like that seemed not so important in the face of finding out what exactly Sandrine had in mind.

Now, though, it looked like the time might be at hand for certain little things to get said.

"How long is the headmaster adjourning class for?" Spike asked, nodding toward the closed door.  

"We've got two hours, so that gives us until ten-thirty."  She smiled, stepping closer so that she could run slim fingers along his waist, tracing the hard edge of the denim.  "Were you serious about wanting to eat?  Or do you think you might be…up for a little dip in the pool?"

When her hand dipped to squeeze his erection on the word "up," he growled, pulling her roughly against him.  "Wouldn't be so little," he murmured, but when he ducked his head to nip at her neck, Buffy laughed and twisted away, darting in the direction of their room.

"Last one in's an evil, bloodsucking fiend!" she called behind her.

*************

She beat him to the gate of the pool area, laughing and taunting the entire way, but truth be told, Spike had let her do it.  Give up watching those lean muscles flex and stretch as she ran ahead of him?  Not enjoy the sight of the firm globes of her bottom tucked snugly inside the shorts she was wearing to swim in?  He was competitive, but he sure as hell wasn't stupid.  No way was he not savoring that view.

The pool was tucked away from behind the hotel, away from prying eyes of most of the guests and lost to the sight of the road he could hear in the distance.  A sign bolted to the wrought iron fence that surrounded it announced that its open hours would be over in less than thirty minutes, and he was about to growl in frustration for not having more time when he saw the accompanying notice about the whirlpool's hours underneath it.  Eleven.  So, wouldn't be a total rout after all.

Buffy stopped just inside the gate, surveying the deserted interior.  "Looks like we got lucky, evil bloodsucking fiend," she tossed back in a tease.  "No audience of unsuspecting kiddies."

"It's not exactly high season for the Big Easy's tourist trade," Spike replied.  He sauntered past her, dropping the towels he'd been carrying to one of the plastic loungers before tugging at the hem of his tee.  "And can't say that I'm all that fussed at havin' an audience."

Her eyes widened when she saw his hands drop to his waistband.  "What're you doing?" she demanded.

"Looks like I'm gettin' ready for a dip."  He chuckled as her eyes jumped around, trying to assess if they were being watched, sliding down the zipper to free his raging erection from the confines of his jeans.  "Don't know what you were expecting, pet.  I'd've thought by now you'd sussed on to the fact that me and underwear don't mesh."  His darkened gaze dropped to the delicate bra she was using as a bikini top.  "Well, least not the kind I'd wear," he drawled.

"What about shorts?"

He cocked his eyebrow at that, pushing the denim down around his ankles and kicking them away.  "Outside of that very unfortunate drying incident at Harris', have you _ever_ seen me in _anything_ remotely resembling shorts?" he asked.  He stood there, naked, enjoying the flush that was creeping over her golden tan, knowing it was both embarrassment and desire that was causing it.

"But…this is a public pool, Spike.  Well, almost public.  Semi-public for being part of the hotel.  Anybody could come on by."

"And again, I ask you…do you honestly think I give two figs?"  With a smirk, his body pivoted from his perch, diving cleanly into the blue water, and Buffy walked forward, stepping out of her sandals near the edge, as she watched his pale form slice through the length of the pool.

Her eyes glittered.  The water did nothing to distort the sleek beauty of his arms, all sinew and lean muscles that made her thighs quiver.  The power in his back as his strong strokes made his swimming seem effortless was matched only by the strength in his thighs, and the sudden flash of how they felt against hers made Buffy's breath quicken.

He loved her.  He'd said it.  So, OK, he didn't exactly pick the most romantic time to tell her, but there had been no denying the force of the moment as relief knowing he was all right combined with the relief of a mission succeeding without casualties for a change.  She'd been just as taken with it as he, swept along the tide of his confession, and grateful that Tara had granted them just a few minutes of peace to seal his declaration with a fitting kiss.

Life was beginning to look good again.  Anya was back and hopefully Xander was fixing whatever was wrong between them, Freddie would help them figure out how to stop Sandrine, and she had Spike.  Now she just had to figure out how get her best friend back and tell everyone she was in love with a vampire.  Again.  She wasn't one hundred percent sure which one was going to be harder.

His head broke through the surface, the water dripping down the planes of his face as Spike gripped the edge of the pool right in front of her.  "So who's the evil, bloodsucking fiend now?" he teased with a smile.

"Excuse me?  I believe I was the one who got here first."

"Yeah, but you were also the one who said first one _in_.  Which would be me."  His grin widened.  "Pool's too big for just one, pet," he drawled.

Before she could react, his hand shot out, latching onto her ankle and carefully hoisting her into the air so that she went flying over his head.  Her outcry of surprise was stifled when she splashed into the water behind him, and Spike turned in his spot just in time to see her come spluttering back up to the surface.

"I was coming in!" she argued, pushing her hair away from her eyes.

"Maybe," he conceded.  "But my way was a helluva lot more fun to watch."  He darted out of her path when she splashed at him, laughing the entire way.  

"It's not nice to try and dunk an unsuspecting person when she's been drowned before," Buffy said, affecting an exaggerated hurt even as her eyes danced.  "You could've seriously traumatized me."

"Guess that means I shouldn't do this then."  Using the tiled wall as leverage, Spike propelled himself forward, ducking below the surface to tackle her around the waist, dragging her down with him to the bottom of the pool.

Trying not to laugh, Buffy twisted in his arms, kicking out with her heel to slam against his hip.  It knocked the vampire just enough off-balance to loosen his grip and she tore away, breaking for air and the opposite end before he could react.

One hand held on to the side, while the other helped her tread water, watching Spike kick off from the bottom to swim to her side.  He didn't come back up though, and she had to squelch the niggle of fear for his safety as she reminded herself of his lack of need for air.  A brief question of how he could be attacking her so without his chip firing flashed across her brain, but she just as quickly explained that one away as well.  Doesn't hurt me, can't hurt him.  Mystery solved.

What is he doing down there? she mused as she felt his hand begin skating up the back of her calf.  His touch was artificially warmed from the heat of the pool, and at moments, it was hard to discern the pressure from his fingers from that of the water's.  His bowed head partially blocked her view, but when she felt his other hand tighten around her ankle again, Buffy tensed, ready to fight whatever assault he had planned now.

It didn't come.  Instead, Spike's grip held her firmly in place, forbidding her movement as his shoulder nudged her flat against the tile.  The touch of his fingers grew firmer, and she gasped as the gentle strokes turned into playful pinches, awakening her muscles as they slid up her leg, traveled around to the softer skin of her inner thigh.  Her arms spread out to her side, supporting her weight against the wall, as her head fell back and she stared up into the dark sky.

"Spike…" she murmured, not really caring if he could hear her or not.  His touch had grown tender again in the more private apex of her thighs, his hand that had rooted her gone to join its mate.  Buffy knew without even having to look that the vampire was worshiping her flesh, his mouth now engaging in the play, and she felt his teeth pull at the waistband of her shorts in an attempt to shed them from her skin.

Wonder if I can count this on the list of positives to having a non-breathing boyfriend? she thought as the fabric was freed from her legs.  Funny, but I'm not convinced Giles really wants to hear about how lucky I am Spike can go down on me in the pool without having to come up for air.  If the sound of smacking weirds him out, his head will probably explode trying to come up with that imagery.

Her legs were lifted to rest on the vampire's shoulders, and Buffy held her breath, waiting for the sensation of what she knew was coming next.  Vibrations against her inner thigh told her Spike was laughing, and his grip tightened, spreading her before him so that his tongue could slide inside of her.

When his hand snaked up her bare stomach to pinch the hardened nub of her nipple through her bra, Buffy's back arched away from the wall, the force of it driving her forward and causing Spike to fall back toward the bottom of the pool.

Immediately, his hold on her disappeared, and the Slayer kicked to regain her balance, struggling between the pounding within her flesh for more and the need to stay above the surface so that she could breathe.  Her hand shot out to grab onto the tile, steadying herself, a bleached head bobbing up next to her.

"What happened to that super Slayer sense of balance?" he teased.

"You're the one who fell over," she countered.  "_And_ let go, I might add."

"Only 'cause I didn't want to drag you down with me."  His smile softened, and Spike reached up to cup the side of her face.  "One of us still requires air to breathe, you know."

Her response was to drift closer to him, her lips meeting his as her arms took the place her legs had just enjoyed around his shoulders.  The tip of his erection brushed against her hip, and she lifted herself just enough from the water to hook her ankles around his waist.

Spike growled as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping against hers in a sympathetic rhythm to their sway.  The sudden desire to taste more than his mouth swelled through the Slayer, and when she broke away to gasp for air, she released her hold on his hips to thrust him hard against the wall.

His eyes were almost black, lids hooded, as Buffy sidled around to his side, her hand scratching down his abdomen to rake along his thighs.  The water softened the sting where her nails broke the skin, but his sharp hiss was one of delight when she dove beneath the surface to replace her hands with her mouth.

As Buffy tried to move, she was countered by the rising of his hips, pulling away and leaving her frustrated.  She blinked as she emerged from the water, tiny drops raining from her lashes onto her cheeks, and saw him stretched out on top alongside her, floating as he maintained his balance by gripping the tile behind him.

"Might as well make it easy for you," he said with a smirk.

She was about to retort in kind when laughter filtered from somewhere near the gate, and her head jerked when she caught the unmistakable sound of voices.  "Crap," Buffy muttered, pulling away from his porcelain frame to look frantically for her shorts.  Good thing I didn't wear underwear, she thought as she darted forward to grab them.  Sliding into them when they were so wet was distinctly harder than when they'd been dry, but she managed it, even swimming halfway back to the other side of the pool before the new arrivals showed up.

Spike's face was a thundercloud as he saw the three young women come through the gate, nubile bodies be damned.  Couldn't they read the damn sign? he groused.  Bloody pool was only going to be open for another fifteen minutes; what was so damn important about a swim that they had to bugger up his moment with Buffy?

The trio was giggling as he moved to join the Slayer, and she realized in horror that the pale curve of his ass gleamed beneath the clear blue water.  Grabbing one of the towels, she dropped it to him as he reached the side, watching it sink into the wet, and then grabbed the rest of their clothes.  "Whirlpool," she said in a voice low enough so that he was the only one who could here.  "Now."

*************

Though he'd briefly considering not bothering with the towel---since when was Spike embarrassed to show his usually hidden assets?---the idea was dismissed when the possibility that it would piss Buffy off enough to forgo any more fooling around sprung into his head.  So, he wrapped the sodden terry around his waist and dripped the entire way to the whirlpool room, tossing the young girls a smirk when not even the weight of the wet towel could keep his erection from tenting out the front.

He'd barely pushed open the door when he felt the knob twist in his fingers, causing the slightest of stumbles as he stepped into the sultry space.  Buffy was on him in a flash, tearing at the covering to bare his skin to the steam, the heat of her flesh rivaling that of the small room.  "Luv," he groaned as her sweat-slicked skin slid down his, her tongue smoothing the way until she was on her knees before him.  He leaned back against the wall, fumbling to his side to close the door.  Maybe she was right after all.  Maybe they didn't need an audience.  He wasn't willing to share her with anybody.

Her tiny hand pumped him, and Spike could feel her breath across its head wafting in audible pants.  "Buffy, please," he begged.

Her laugh was low.  "Somebody's sounding a little anxious, I think," she singsonged.  "Don't you want me to…?"

"'Course I do, but…"  It took every ounce of his control to pull her up, taking her by the hand to lead her to the whirlpool.  For the first time, he noticed that she'd removed her clothing before he'd arrived, and his heavy gaze slid over her, drowning in her golden beauty before it disappeared in the churning water.

Buffy yelped in surprise and Spike chuckled as she looked over her shoulder to see the blasting jet she had just sat down on.  "One plus over the pool," he murmured, and tugged her forward.  "C'mere, luv."

"You're being bossy tonight," she complained good-naturedly.  "Since when do you get to be the one in charge?"

"Considering how many times I've had to put up with you leading me around by the short hairs, I'd say I've earned my turn."  Spike pulled her onto his lap, deliberately arranging it so that his erection was pressed between them.  

This was his chance, he knew.  If he waited any longer to tell her, no matter how well she took it, Buffy would be angry at how long he took, let alone that she wasn't the first to know.  Still, his stomach boiled in revolt, arguing that ignorance was bliss, while his still-throbbing cock seemed to have even other ideas about what exactly bliss was.  But he'd been planning this from her first suggestion, attending the needs of her body in the pool before they'd been interrupted, trying to keep it focused on her as he tried to charm her into as good a mood as possible.  Distraction through desire seemed a good enough idea to him.

"Have I said lately just how beautiful you are?" Spike started, brushing his knuckles across her cheek.

She smiled.  "Your mouth's been a little busy elsewhere for that," she joked.

"I'm serious, pet."  Dark eyes lifted to lock with hers.  "I've always thought so.  Even that first time I saw you.  Absolutely glorious, you were, dancing around the Bronze like you owned the place.  Probably should've known then you'd steal my heart away."

Her smile stayed but softened, sadness tingeing it around the edges.  "That doesn't even seem like this lifetime," she mused.  "We were both totally different people then.  I was with Angel and you were with Dru."

"Ever wonder…what if we hadn't been?  Think it would've still turned out this way?  You…me…straddling…"

Buffy slapped playfully at his chest.  "Oh, because the Slayer and the Scourge of Europe were a match made in heaven," she said.  She kept waiting for him to join in her teasing but the solemnity of his eyes riveted her in her play.  "You're serious," she said needlessly.

Spike nodded.  "Maybe it was meant to be, no matter what.  Dru saw you before I knew, and that Clara bird certainly had her own ideas.  Who knows?  We could've been together all this time if things had played themselves out a tad different from the start."

"But you know that's impossible."  Her words, though soft, sliced through his heart as effectively as if she'd used her stake.  "You didn't have the chip then.  Sooner or later, you would've done something all Big Bad-y and I would've had to kill you for it."

"I'm not the chip, luv.  Don't you think---."

"No, I don't think.  I know you hate it, Spike, but that little piece of plastic is the only reason we're together now."

His brow was furrowed, eyes searching hers to try and understand what she was saying.  "Because you can see me now that I'm leashed," he finally said, words carefully chosen and articulated.  "That's it, right?"

"You were a menace before.  Have we forgotten about the numerous death threats you gave me, including our little slaying in the sunshine when you got the Gem?  Having the chip means we can get past---."

He didn't give her a chance to finish.  "Maybe it was that way in the beginning, but what about now?"  Without realizing it, his fingers were digging into her hips, his frustration at her obstinacy driving his blood to surge in anger.  "What happened to you believing me makin' my own choices?  _You_ said that, remember?  Or was that just all lipservice to stop the depressed vamp from turning into Brood Boy?"

"I meant that, every word.  You know that."

"Then tell me why you think I'd go back to that, knowing what we have now.  Knowing what we could have tomorrow.  Just…tell me, Buffy."  The entreaty in his blue eyes shone, even through the steam that swirled from the eddying water around them.  Every fiber of Spike's being was screaming out to her to understand what he was saying here, but even as the words tumbled from his mouth, he could see the belief in her peeking its head out and felt his hope crumble.

"Because that's what you are," she murmured.  "You're a killer.  That's what you do.  You've told me that yourself."  She'd said the words so many times, having them come out now was reflexive.  Yet as they hung between the blond pair, Buffy couldn't help but wonder if they were still necessarily true.  She _had_ told him he was capable of making good choices; she'd witnessed it firsthand with Pablo.  And she loved him, there was no denying that.  But was it possible to love someone who didn't have some measure of good inside?  And if there was good in Spike, how fair of it was her to try and slap such an awful label on him?

"When?  When was the last time I said that?"  He shook his head, the damp from his tousled curls spattering droplets across their shoulders.  "I love you, Buffy.  I know I only said the words today, but the feeling…it's…fuck, it's been around in one shape or another for a bit now.  Maybe it's been there from the beginning.  I don't know.  I _do _know that I'm not the same person I was when we first met.  Just like you're not.  And yeah, maybe I think about what it was like before, and I remember how much easier life was, how much _simpler_, and just maybe I've wished I could have that back again, _all_ of it.  It doesn't mean I would.  Because it's all about choices, right, pet?  I can _choose_ not to do that again if I want."

In spite of the heat of their flesh, and the fire from the water, her body was rigid within his arms, growing cooler with each passing second.  "What is it you're trying to tell me here, Spike?" she asked.  

The knock at the door made both of them jump, and her hair slapped him in the face as she whirled to look at it.

"What?" Spike snarled, his eyes flashing gold.

The door eased open, and Tara's ducked head poked inside.  She kept her eyes averted from the two blonds in the water as she spoke.  "Mr. Giles w-w-wants everyone back in the room as soon as possible," she rushed.  "Freddie's f-f-freaking out."

"We'll be right there," Buffy assured.  As soon as they were alone again, she hopped from the pool, grabbing the lone dry towel to begin scrubbing at her skin.  "We're going to finish the conversation as soon as we can," she said as she dried off.  "I want to know what's going on inside that bleached head of yours."

Numbly, Spike nodded.  His moment was lost, his anger at being interrupted receding to a dangerous ebb aimed specifically at himself.  Whatever happened now, he had no doubts how it would turn out.  Buffy had made herself more than clear.  She couldn't see him as anything but a killer without the chip in his head, and no amount of persuasion on his part was going to alter that fact.  She needed that crutch in order to allow herself the leeway of loving him.

The only question now was…was it worth it to risk the truth if it meant losing her in the process?

*************

She was even more terrified than she'd been in those first few minutes after realizing Sandrine had control of her body.

Within the confines of her thoughts, Willow shrunk back as she witnessed the ravaging the woman was doing to Iris' living room---glass flying from the shattered window embedding itself into her bare arms, peppering her skin so that the dozens of pinpricks seemed to bleed black in the dark of the room.  She'd hurled the lamp through it once she'd realized just what had happened, rage boiling from nowhere to bury everything else in its rush to explode.  The curses she screamed pierced the eardrums of the vampires who hung back in the doorway, and even Iris seemed to shy away from the rampaging redhead, not even trying to intervene when a shelf of collectible crystal dissolved under a blaze of magic.

Though she was happy that Anya had been rescued, Willow was more frightened of what was going to happen next, now that Sandrine had seen the surveillance tapes and witnessed firsthand how Freddie had sold her out to the Slayer.  She could feel the ice beginning to creep past the fury, squeezing its path into her veins even as she destroyed the interior of the room.  

Sandrine wanted someone to pay for betraying her.

Willow just wished she knew who that someone was going to be.

To be continued in Chapter 32: Freddie Freeloader…


	32. Freddie Freeloader

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.  And the chapter titles are courtesy of Miles Davis.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Xander and Anya have reconciled, while Spike has attempted to tell Buffy about the chip, only to be interrupted by Tara and the announcement that Freddie is freaking out back in the hotel room…

*************

It came out of the blue.

One moment, he was sitting on the bed, talking with Tara while they awaited the arrival of the pizza, laughing more amiably than he would've expected considering he knew how she blamed him for Willow's kidnapping, wondering not for the first time how he could've gotten himself involved in hurting such genuinely nice people.

The next, it felt like a swarm of bees had decided to make their home on the inside of his wrist, buzzing and stinging and moving as if a dervish had excited them past agitation.

Freddie's hand jerked at the sudden sensation, stopping in mid-sentence to look down at his arm.  Most of the time, he wasn't even aware of the garde that he bore there; he and Stella had been only nineteen when they'd first initiated themselves with the symbol of the swamp djab.  But now, the twin circles seemed even more raised from his flesh, angry and pulsing, while the line that cut through their intersection seemed to scissor its way past the confines of the scar, slicing a path straight up his arm.

"Freddie?"  Tara's voice was hesitant, fear beginning to trickle back into her demeanor by the abrupt change in his manner.  It had vanished while they spoke, his assurances that he was there to help them now enough to allay her worries, but his unexpected quieting had called them back.  He was almost not aware of the shifting of the mattress as she eased herself further away from him.

It's never done this before, he thought wildly, his heart hammering in his chest as he saw his marked wrist begin to shake.  Quickly, he grabbed it with his other hand, but the trembling only increased, transferring its waves along his other limb as waves of heat suffused his muscles.  

"Freddie?" Tara repeated as if he hadn't heard her before.  This time, she reached forward, an unsteady hand coming to rest on his arm as if to comfort him.

At the first contact, her skin to his skin, every nerve in Freddie's body exploded in frightened protest, his arms flailing as he leapt from the mattress and away from the young witch.  Vaguely, he was aware of his hand coming into contact with her jaw, heard the soft thud of her body as she tumbled off the bed, but Freddie was more focused on trying to contain the skittering of fear that was coursing through his body.

"Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong," he chanted, his voice coarse.  He could feel her then, and as the furnace within his torso became stoked with his fear, he heard her screams of frustration inside his head, just as if she was in the same room with him.

Sandrine.

She knew.

Oh, god, she knew, and she was _pissed_.

Not possible, not possible, his mind ranted, but even as he thought the words, there was no denying the sensations of his body being torn apart, his head being in two different places at the same time.  While he knew he was still in the hotel room, and could now see Giles rising from his seat at the desk, Freddie could also see the destruction of Iris' apartment, saw the shards of crystal flying through the air, smelled the pungent smell of Sandrine's blood from where it flowed on her arm.

And more than that, he felt her fury reaching out to torch anything and everything in her way.

Terror turned his body into tinder, and his instincts took over.  As he began thrashing about, trying to extinguish the fire that only existed inside his mind, strong hands took hold of his shoulders, fighting to contain his movements but failing to maintain a grip.

"Go get the others!" he heard Giles bark.  "Now!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Freddie saw the flash of blonde scramble for the doorway, but Tara's exit was of little concern to him.  It wasn't supposed to be possible, his brain was arguing.  Sandrine never got the garde; she'd stated with little room for discussion that she didn't need one to connect with the djab in the swamp as he was the one who'd brought her back.  Yet, there was no doubt in his mind that that was why he was experiencing what he was.  Their connection through the spirit they'd worshiped now linked them in more ways than one.  Somehow.  For whatever reason, maybe her heightened state of anger, maybe something else, he was now caught in her vortex, seeing what was swirling around her, burning from the poker-hot ire that was aimed at her surroundings.

But if he could see her…did that mean she could see him?

For a moment, he stopped struggling against the Englishman, the icy daggers of panic temporarily sluicing through his veins.  She was going to know.  After everything, all of Anya's promises of protection, the Slayer's words of support, Freddie was going to do the exact thing he feared would happen, outside of getting killed himself.

He was going to lead Sandrine straight to those who were trying to stop her.

They would be dead faster than they could realize what had hit them.  The Slayer may be physically capable, but not one of them could hold a candle to the redhead in the magic department, and Sandrine was getting stronger with every passing day.  If she came after them, he just knew she was going to annihilate each of them, their history be damned.  And it would be all his fault.  Their blood would be on his hands.  Just like Stella's.  Hell, Sandrine just might make him do it himself before she killed him, just to twist the knife all that much more viciously.

Can't do it.  No more.  Not worth it.  I'm so sorry, Stella.  Can't.  Won't.

_Run_.

The cessation of his thrashing had lulled Giles into a sense of security, his hold on the young man's shoulders loosening.  When Freddie lifted his gaze to meet the bespectacled one before him, he swallowed, silently apologizing for what he was about to do.

"Are you---?"

Giles never got to finish the sentence.  

Freddie's fist shot out, connecting with his jaw, and without even bothering to look behind him as the Englishman fell away from him, he bolted from the room.

*************

Don't even know why I bothered with the drying when my clothes are still sopping wet from the pool, Buffy groused as she pulled her shorts up over her hips.  Behind her, she heard the water splash as Spike stepped out, the quiet shick of his jeans being tugged up over his wet legs.  For someone who had been so talkative just moments before, he hadn't made a single sound since Tara's announcement, and Buffy glanced back at him with a frown.

"You've gone all quiet," she said, noting the flex of the muscles in his back as his arms stretched to slip his tee over his head.

"Thought you wanted to finish this up after we get your Watcher sorted."  He didn't even turn back to look at her, and his voice was almost indiscernible over the humming power of the whirlpool.

Immediately, warning bells rang in Buffy's head, and she hesitated at the button on her waistband.  There was a coolness in his tone that hadn't been there before.  Was he angry?  Wait, no ranting and raving and snarky comments.  Those usually accompanied Spike bad moodiness.  What, then?  

He was past her before she could stop him, yanking the door open and striding out of the whirlpool room without another word.  Her frown deepened.  She would almost say he was trying to get away from her quicker, but why would that be?  They'd been playing in the pool, and laughing, and there'd been the amazing oral sex on both ends, and then the whirlpool…and their chat.  Something about the chat.  Had she said something specifically to set him off?

"Are y-y-you all right?"  Tara was standing in the doorway, waiting for her to come out, and Buffy shook her head to clear it, grabbing her sandals to march to the other girl's side.

"Yeah," she said, though she really didn't mean it.  Using the jamb as a perch, she stopped to slip the first of her shoes on, and then the second, before taking off for Giles' room.  Spike was already gone.

Tara was quick to follow.  "Did something happen?" she asked.  "Spike looked upset.  He didn't even look at me when he went by."

"What?  No.  Nothing happened.  Just…"  The yank she gave the gate was too hard, and the hinges groaned in protest.  Still no sign of Spike.  Is he running? she thought irritably.  Stupid vamp.  What the hell did I say?

"Did you…talk?"

The hesitation in the witch's voice lassoed Buffy to a halt, and she whirled to face her.  "How'd you know that?"

She couldn't quite meet the Slayer's direct gaze.  "I know h-h-he…he s-s-said something…this m-m-morning."

In spite of the rush of knowing she was needed back at the room, and in spite of the anxiety curling around her stomach about what could possibly be wrong with Spike, there was no way Buffy couldn't notice how the sharpness in her tone had sent friendly and relaxed Tara scurrying away, leaving behind the stuttering young woman who had hidden so well from them before she'd come to know the group.  Consciously, she took a deep breath, trying to soften her presentation before speaking again.

"I'm sorry," Buffy said.  "I didn't mean…yeah, we were talking.  In a not so finished way."

"And it…didn't go well?"  A little more sure, her shoulders a little less sloped.

"I don't know what the hell happened," the Slayer admitted.  Looking into the wide eyes of the other girl, she felt the wash of empathy coming off from her, and decided to take a risk.  "You and Spike…I guess you're kind of friends now, right?"

The corner of Tara's mouth lifted shyly.  "Don't say that in front of him," she instructed.  "Somehow, I'm not sure he'd like that."

Buffy couldn't help but smile in kind.  "Yeah," she agreed, imagining the bleached blond pretending to get ruffled at the mere suggestion.  "So, I guess that means you know what it is he wanted to tell me."  It almost came out as a question, and she caught her lip between her teeth as she waited for some sort of acknowledgement.

"Oh, I…couldn't.  That's for Spike to say.  Not me.  It wouldn't…I really shouldn't."

"But you know."

"M-m-mr. Giles is waiting---."

Buffy caught her arm as she tried to brush past.  "I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important, Tara.  I hate that I hurt him when I didn't mean to.  I have to make it right.  Please?"

Long hair fell to curtain Tara's face from her view as the witch ducked her head.  "What did he tell you?" she finally murmured.

She jumped at the opening.  "He kept talking about choices," the Slayer rushed.  "About wanting to know if I thought we were always meant to be together, even before he got the chip."

"And do you?"  She looked up, meeting the green eyes with more strength than Buffy had seen since the girl had shown up at the whirlpool.  "Do you think you could've…fallen for him…without it?"

"He was a killer then."  God, that sounds even less believable the second time around, she thought.  And what does it really have to do with anything?  "An evil killer," she tried again, but mentally shook her head.  Nope.  That sounded even worse.

"You called him an evil killer?"

Buffy frowned at the quiet reprimand in her voice.  "You do remember he's a vampire, right?" she countered, suddenly defensive.  "That's what they do."

Tara took a long time to answer.  "That's also what Slayers do," she finally said.

"But…I'm not…"  She stopped, words once again failing her.

"And neither is Spike."

The witch's soft voice cast aside the lingering confusion in Buffy's mind as she released the iron-grip she hadn't even realized she'd been exerting on her Slayer mantra to see what had been before her the entire time.  Her heart had known it, had let her fall in love with the blond vampire even as she continued to stumble along blindly in her black and white world.   It had just taken her word-deficient brain too long to catch up, to see that underneath the swagger, behind the fangs, was a creature capable of so much more, a partner who was just as afraid of being hurt as she was.  Someone who loved her, not in spite of who she was, but because of it.  The only one to ever really understand that.

No wonder Spike had run.  She'd betrayed her faith in him.  After everything she'd said to him, after admitting to her that he loved her, after telling him she trusted him, she'd negated all of it by reverting back to her tried and true killer line.  Except not so true.  He'd proven that to her over and over again.  And she owed him so much more.

Her mouth opened to speak, only to close again when the words refused to come.  What was the point?  Tara wasn't the one who should be hearing this.  Wrong blond.

Instead, she gave her a quick smile, and turned to run toward Giles' room.  The sooner they got Freddie calmed back down, the sooner she could tell Spike how sorry she was and hear just what exactly he wanted to tell her.  She owed him that.

*************

The girls stopped short when Spike emerged from the room.  "Canary's flown the nest," he said tersely.  As his head turned to scan the parking lot over the balcony, he added, "He clocked Rupert right good.  Your Watcher's out cold in there."  As they started to rush past him to see for themselves, he added, "He's not bleedin' or anything.  And I put him on the bed so he's more comfortable."  He snorted.  "Is there a state Rupert _hasn't_ gotten himself knocked out in?"

Buffy turned toward Tara, all thoughts of her personal issues shuttled to the back of her mind as she went into Slayer mode.  "When you said freaking out, what did you mean?  What was happening in there?" she demanded.

"We were talking and he just started shaking, and when I tried to find out what was wrong, he…exploded.  Not literally," she hastened to add.  "More having a seizure-like.  Like Rainman?  He kept saying something about it being wrong."

"Maybe we'll get lucky and he'll just want to drive around the parking lot then," Buffy joked harshly, stopping when she saw Xander and Anya running up behind the witch.

"What's up?" the brunette asked.  He glanced at the open door behind Spike.  "Tara said Giles needed us."

"Freddie's gone.  Tara, see to Giles.  Make sure he's all right.  Xander, Anya, search the hotel.  Lobby, closets.  Anywhere he might hide.  Spike and I will take the outside---."

"Prat's scared."

She frowned, watching the vampire as his narrowed eyes followed the slow turn of his head.  His nostrils flared and she could almost feel her own lungs swell in kind as he sniffed deeply at the air.  "Can you find him?" she asked.

His hands were curled around the edge of the balcony before the question was out of her mouth.  "Already have," he said, and with a graceful leap, disappeared over the railing.

The four rushed forward to see the blond head sink into the darkness, landing silently on the pavement below before breaking into a run.  "Take care of Giles," Buffy repeated to the group, aping Spike's hold before following after him.

They were silent for a moment as the two pale streaks vanished out of their view.  "Should we go after them?" Anya asked.

"I'll go," Xander said.  A quick glance over the side, and then he pointed to the stairs.  "I'll just take the long way down."

As the two remaining women hurried into the room, Anya glanced back over her shoulder at the railing and said, "Why were Buffy's clothes all wet?"

*************

They caught up to him almost at the same time, Spike stepping aside at the last moment to allow Buffy to be the one to grab Freddie's arm.  The young man jerked to a halt, looking wildly behind him as he struggled to get free.

"Let me go!" he said, ignoring the odd glances from the people waiting at the nearby bus stop as he fought against the tiny blonde holding his arm

"Kind of defeats the purpose of chasing you down, don't you think?" she quipped.  Holding him wasn't difficult, but the feel of his skin beneath her fingers took her by surprise.  Not enough to let go, though.  

Hot, like feverish hot, as if someone was lighting him from within, with a Sahara dryness that was unnatural in this kind of heat.  He should've been dripping in sweat, what with running and external temperatures that were still through the roof in spite of being past sunset, but he wasn't.  Flushed, yes.  Perspiry, no.

And it pulsed.  Maybe it was his nerves, or maybe it was the adrenaline from fleeing, but Freddie's muscles were quaking enough to make her hand vibrate.  Spooked in a major way, she decided.  This one's definitely getting cut off from the caffeine.

"You don't understand," he whimpered, still trying to extricate himself from her grip as he stumbled along after her.  "She knows.  She's going to come.  Let me go.  You have to let me go."

"She?"  Back on the edge of the parking lot and away from prying eyes, Buffy stopped.  "Do you mean Sandrine?"

He nodded furiously.  "I saw her.  You have no idea how mad she is.  You _really_ don't want to see her when she gets angry."

"Don't know about that," Spike drawled.  "Green's a good color for Red."

She ignored his sarcasm, and frowned at Freddie.  "Take a deep breath and let's try this again, OK?"  She waited as he followed her instruction and noticed for the first time the raised edge of the scar on his arm.  "Now.  You.  Running Away.  Why?"

"I saw her.  Felt her.  Sandrine, I mean.  I'm not sure how, but I think it's because of this."  He turned his wrist out so that they could both see the garde.  "She's back at that vampire's place, and lemme tell you, she is _not_ happy."

Behind them, Xander came trotting up.  "Who's not happy?" he asked.

"The vodou bitch who's shacking up with Red," Spike replied.

"So you're running back to her?" Buffy quizzed.  "That makes about no kind of sense."

"Don't you get it?"  Though he wasn't moving, his skin was still twitching, his agitation not abating.  "If I can see her, she can see me.  And I can't do it anymore.  I can't do the killing.  You don't know her.  She's out of control.  Just ask your friend Anya."

"As much as I appreciate your thinking you need to protect us," she said, although her tone made it more than clear that she didn't, "we can take care of ourselves.  We've had a little practice with the not-so-nice guys."

"Is that why she lit your boyfriend up brighter than a summer day?" Freddie countered.  "I didn't see you doin' so well at taking care of yourselves out at Sira Sommeil."

"Things have changed since then," she said tightly.  "We're ready for her this time."

"Boyfriend?  You think Spike is her boyfriend?"

Xander's laugh grated down Buffy's spine and her grip unconsciously tightened enough around Freddie's arm to make him wince.  She had to clear the air.  She could practically hear Spike grinding his teeth just outside her line of sight, and the desire to yell at Xander about how wrong he really was swelled inside her gut.  Get back to the room and tell everyone all together, her head said.  Now's the time to show Spike just how serious you are about the two of you.

Before Buffy could say anything, though, Freddie was already speaking up.  "There is no ready.  She's crazy.  Look at what she did to Willow.  She made your friend go bye-bye.  You're telling me you _really_ want to cross Sandrine's path?"

"Willow's still there," Xander said.  "So just goes to show how much you know."

"What?  What're you talking about?"

"We intercepted a note Willow wrote to you.  Somewhere inside her perky little body, she's still kicking and fighting to get back to us, just like the scrapper she is.  So why don't you trust Buffy when she says we can handle this, OK, and come on back without us having to drag your butt up those stairs?"

The Slayer almost didn't hear any of the exchange.  When she turned to talk to Xander, she was caught by Spike's inky gaze locked on her, and stopped, drinking in the shadowed planes of his face.  I'm sorry, she thought at him, and wished that she could say it out loud.  But this was an apology that needed to be said in privacy, so when she realized that the young man in her grasp had relaxed at Xander's words, she eased her grip on him, waiting to see if he would run.

He didn't.  Though his body was still strung tight as a bow, his eyes betrayed his desire to believe them.

"Take him back to the room, Xander," Buffy said softly.  "Spike and I will be there in a second."

"C'mon," the brunette said.  As he reached to take the other man's arm, a pizza delivery truck pulled into the parking lot, its headlights flooding them momentarily in brilliance before aiming itself at the bottom of the exterior stairwell.  He smiled.  "I'm going to call that fortuitous timing.  No way can pizza ever be the bearer of bad news."

She waited until they were out of earshot before stepping forward to stand in front of Spike.  Inside her ribcage, her heart thumped in anticipation, while the clean scent of his skin filled her nostrils, making her head swim.

"Don't tell me you want to finish our little convo now," he said quietly.

With his back to the streetlights, his eyes were hidden, bottomless pools that made her want to drown, and instead, Buffy settled for lifting her hand to cup the side of his face.  "Not really," she said.  "That can wait.  What can't wait is me telling you that you have a real idiot for a girlfriend."

Just because she couldn't see his eyes, didn't mean she couldn't see how quickly his scarred brow shot up at her statement.  "Sounds like you know something I don't," Spike murmured.

"Yep.  I know that my mouth often decides to do its own thing before consulting my brain."  Her thumb glided over the satin skin and she felt her mouth water as his hand came up to cover hers.  "Whatever it is you think you need to tell me, I don't want you to worry about how I'm going to take it.  I trust you, Spike.  I've seen you do the right thing.  And I'm sorry that it took me this long to realize just what you are."

"And…what's that, pet?"

How she ached to see the look in his eyes.  It always amazed her how expressive they were, changing color depending on his mood, revealing every little thought and feeling that he seemed to be experiencing at that particular moment in time.  Stretching to brush her lips over his, she whispered, "The man I love."

Her deliberate use of the word "man" and not "demon" didn't go unnoticed, and Spike's arm curled around her waist to pull her against him, the slight tremor in his muscles betraying to her what his eyes did not.  His mouth danced over her brow, peppering butterfly kisses as it blazed a path down her face, only to meet hers with a shaky sigh.

There was no hesitation in her response.  Lips parting, tongues darting out to dance with the other in a heated tango, coaxing and soothing and urging all at the same time.  Hands curled into hair, desperately clinging as if needing the anchor to root them to the ground, each believing that if they let go, the other would disappear in a diaphanous dream, leaving them to wonder if such a thing as what they'd felt was even possible.

"Love you so much, Buffy," he breathed when she broke away.

She rested her cheek against his chest, feeling her pulse pounding in her ears as his body picked up on the rhythm.  "I know," she murmured, and then because she knew he needed to hear it again, just as much as she needed to say it, "I love you, too."

*************

The room lay in shambles around her, a small fire still burning in the corner of the couch.  Disdainfully, Sandrine plucked the shard of glass from her palm and tossed it aside, sneering with disgust when the vampires who still hovered in the doorway sniffed hungrily at the blood that clung to it.  "Can you be any more gross?" she complained.  "I'm having an epiphany here and seeing you drooling after my little boo-boos like they're filet mignon is kind of distracting me."

"Does an epiphany include full-scale destruction of my home?" Iris said coldly.

Her eyes were like brittle emeralds as they swung to meet those of the vampire's.  "This isn't even _close_ to full-scale so don't start whining unless you're interested in being kindling for my next bonfire," she warned, a casual flick of her fingers sending a bolt of magic off to Iris' right.  She smiled when the demon flinched.  "And no, my epiphany has absolutely nothing to do with your hideous décor.  If you really want to know, I've decided we need to go on a little road trip."

"We just got back from a road trip.  You said you wanted to wait until morning to get the staff."

"And we are."  The vampire hadn't seen what she had, hadn't felt Freddie's fear as he witnessed Sandrine's wrath.  And she certainly had no clue that the Slayer and her little friends had actually managed to convince the idiot to go back with them.  "Think of this as more of a…midnight raid."

To be continued in Chapter 33: Electric Red…


	33. Electric Red

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.  And the chapter titles are courtesy of Miles Davis.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Freddie freaked out and ran from the Scoobies after witnessing Sandrine's fury through their djab connection, only to be caught by Buffy and Spike, and convinced to return…

*************

Though he sensed Tara's proximity long before they rounded the corner by the vending machines, Spike didn't move his hand from where it rested in the small of Buffy's back, or stop the gentle stroking of his thumb along the hollow created by her spine.  He was fairly certain the young witch was alone, but even if one of the others was with her, there was no way in hell he was backing away from the Slayer now.  Not after what she'd just said to him.

_Man_.  She'd referred to him as a man, not a monster, offering her trust to him unequivocally, without even needing to hear what it was that he needed for her to know.  It didn't mean he wasn't still terrified of telling her, but he wasn't dreading her response nearly as badly as he had before.  She understood he was going to do what it took to do the right thing, that he had the strength to control himself, that he could be his own man without risking anyone else.

His own man.  He liked the sound of that.

The man Buffy loved.  He liked the sound of that even better.

So, if someone other than Tara was around that corner, well, sod it.  He didn't care who knew now.  She had said she was going to tell the others, but if they happened to find out by accident before the words could actually come out of her mouth, well, then that was just an added bonus, wasn't it?

But the witch was by herself, and as they stepped into the vending area, Buffy and Spike saw her pull the ice bucket away from the dispenser and clutch it to her stomach, long hair swishing around her shoulders when her head jerked to see who was approaching.

"Oh.  Hi."  The tension eased from her body, and she smiled knowingly when she saw the lean of Buffy's body into Spike's, the possessive graze of their hands that not even they seemed to be aware of.

"How's Giles?"

"Conscious.  And sore.  Which makes him a little cranky."  She held out the bucket.  "I offered to do a poultice, but he asked for ice instead."  Tara's gaze jumped from each of their faces.  "Is everything…OK?"

He caught the lingering second the two women shared.  So that was it.  The witch imparting her wisdom for the grace of the good around her yet again.  For a brief moment, Spike debated whether he should be pissed off at her intervention, but even before he felt Buffy's fleeting nuzzle against his arm, he had dismissed the notion as ridiculous.  Any words that paved the way for him and the Slayer had to be good, and it certainly wasn't as if he hadn't taken her advice onboard as well.

"Things are great," Buffy said.  "Except for the part where Freddie's convinced Sandrine knows where he is now.  That's not so great."

Tara's smile faded.  "Was that what his freakout was about?"

"Turns out our serpent summoners have a little psychic connection," she explained.  "One gets upset, the other one feels it.  And vice versa.  At least, that's what he claims.  And he's saying Sandrine was wigging out in a grand slam kind of way."

"What does this mean?  Are we moving again?"

Spike snorted.  "Not if I can help it.  Been in more beds since we hit the Big Easy than the Happy Hooker.  I think we deserve at least one night where we wake up in the one we went to sleep in, don't you?"

Her smile returned at his obvious meaning, twisting in amusement at the pink flush that settled over Buffy's cheeks.  "Not that I'm trying to be nosy or anything," Tara said, "but it might be a good idea if you went and changed your clothes before you come back to the room.  Anya was asking why you were all wet."  She shook her head before either of them could say anything.  "I told her you'd wanted to cool off in the pool, but I didn't mention you were there together.  I didn't want to…overstep my bounds."

Buffy looked up at the vampire at her side, eyes settling on the tousled curls that were still mildly damp from the water.  "I think we're pretty much boundless at this point, don't you?" she said softly.  The question wasn't directed at Tara; it was directed at Spike, and the reflection of the moonlight in the green of her eyes made him wish it was possible to drown himself in them.

"Still might not be a bad idea to go change, luv," he said.  At her puzzled frown, he gestured toward the bra she'd worn as a swimming top.  "Unless you're all right flashing the goodies in front of Harris.  Just don't think you want to be givin' him and his demon bird any more reason to scrap when they've only just made up."

"Since when did you become Dr. Phil?" Buffy asked in surprise.

"Not anything like that wanker," Spike argued, but when Tara smothered a giggle, he glowered in protest.  "I'm not!  And if I am, it's all _your_ bloody fault," he shot at the young witch.

The Slayer laughed along.  "Don't worry," she assured.  "Your secret is safe with us.  But you do have a point.  Dry clothes, here I come."

When she started to walk away, a quick slap against her bottom from the vampire made her squeal and whirl around in surprise.  He flipped her the card key from his pocket with a mischievous grin.  "Wouldn't mind my boots while you're at it," he drawled, his tongue curling under his upper teeth.  "And maybe a packet of blood?"

"Anything else, your highness?"

He pretended to think about it and then shook his head.  "That'll do," he said, and chuckled when she rolled her eyes.  The grin melted into a wistful smile as he watched her stride away, her skin gleaming in the evening light, the heartbeat he recognized better than his own body's rhythms fading into the darkness.  Even after it was gone, the echo of her essence breathed through his flesh, and he let himself disappear momentarily into its promise, remembering strong kisses and stronger words from only minutes earlier buoying his existence.

"Did you tell her yet?"

Her quiet words slid him from his reverie, and Spike glanced over at the waiting witch.  "Not yet," he said.  "But soon.  We got…a little distracted back there with the prat running and all."

"C'mon," Tara said with a nod of her head toward the stairs.  "If we don't get up to the room soon, I think Xander's going to have eaten all the pizza.  And my stomach is rumbling from all this excitement.  I don't want to miss out."

"Want me to thump him if he has?" he teased as he followed her away from the vending machines.

"Spike…"

"I'm just sayin'…"

*************

Pushing open the door, Sandrine stepped out into the parking lot, the flashing neon from the hotel sign bathing her face in alternating crimson and black.  She looked down at the various cars that were pulling into empty spaces before sweeping her emerald gaze across the cement.  "This is it," she said, not deigning to turn her head when Iris emerged behind her.  "He's here."

"You're sure?"  The blonde vampire's tone was disbelieving, but after the show back at her apartment, she was hesitant to directly counter her partner again.  Not without knowing for sure she wasn't going to go up in flames for it.

Energy seemed to crackle around the witch, her hair blazing even in the moonlight.  "Positive," she murmured.  Fingers lifted, and her hand floated in a horizontal line across the picture before her.  "Come out, come out, wherever you are," she singsonged.

"Wait a minute."  This was too much.  Iris swept around to stand in front of Sandrine, forcing the human to look up at her.  "Don't tell me you don't know which room is his.  I didn't come here to play hide and seek with your little playmate."

"We don't need to know.  He's going to tell us."

Carefully plucked eyebrows shot up.  "Oh?  And why's that?  Because we say pretty please?"

"No."  Sandrine smiled, her teeth gleaming maliciously white.  "Because he's with the Slayer.  And there is no way the Slayer will ignore a slaughter going on.  Right.  Under.  Her.  Nose."

It took her a moment, but slowly, Iris joined in the redhead's grin as understanding dawned.  She turned to face the coterie of vampires who had collected behind her.  "You heard the lady," she said to them.  "Let's eat."

*************

"Just because you don't like the pineapple, doesn't mean you have to throw it away, Ahn."

"Why couldn't Giles' have ordered any good pizza?  He knows I don't like this Hawaiian crap.  He does this on purpose, you know.  Just to annoy me."

"No, he doesn't.  Here.  Put it on mine."

"You'll taste like pineapple then.  That makes kissing you not so much fun."

"I promise I'll brush my teeth."

"You always say that."

"I always mean it."

Ducking her head to hide her smile, Buffy listened to Xander and Anya bicker with a growing sense of warmth inside her stomach.  Funny how such a little thing could make even a hotel room in the middle of New Orleans feel like home.  She hadn't even realized she'd missed it until they started up again tonight.  Of course, the fact that Spike was sprawled on the floor at her feet, lacing up his boots and taking every opportunity to "accidentally" brush up against her bare legs, didn't hurt, either.  Not even Freddie's fidgeting, even if it was silent, was enough to detract from her good mood.  With him now on their side, she had every confidence that they'd beat Sandrine once and for all.  

"I think I have more aspirin back in my room," Tara was saying to Giles.

The Watcher shook his head.  The ice she had brought to the room was wrapped in a white towel and pressed to the side of his jaw, and he sat at the desk carefully watching Freddie pick at his pizza, his lean body tense in case another unexpected attack was sprung upon him.  "I'll be all right," he said.  "And we should really start going over Freddie's story again.  I have some questions---."

A woman's scream from outside cut through the conversations that were going on around the room, silencing all of them even as it jerked Buffy to her feet.  Immediately, Spike was at her side, but both of them glanced back when Freddie's agitations sent him scurrying to the farthest wall away from the door.

"I told you, I told you, you should've listened to me, I told you so," he babbled. 

Another scream punctuated the air, and this time, the Slayer didn't hesitate before pulling the door open to look outside.  Her gaze scanned the parking lot, and as the gang crowded behind her, she saw a flash of dark clothes and pale skin disappear around the corner.

"Look who's coming to dinner," she said tightly.  She pushed her way back inside and headed straight for the stack of weapons on the floor in the corner.

"Maybe it's just a normal vamp attack," Xander offered.

Tara shook her head.  "No, Freddie's right.  Sandrine's here.  I can feel her power."

"Told you, told you, told you," Freddie chanted.  "Nobody ever listens to me.  I told you she would come."

"Somebody shut him up," Buffy ordered.  She pulled a stake from the pile and tossed it to Spike before grabbing one for herself.

"What's the plan?" Xander asked.

"We get out of here," she explained.  "Spike and I'll handle the vamps who're attacking while the rest of you sneak our resident Rainman here out."

"What about Sandrine?"

"We've got top of the line, roadkill accessories for that.  We just have to get back to our room to get them first."

Giles picked up one of the crossbows.  "I'm coming with you.  Xander can drive the others out of here in the rental."

"I can't protect you, Giles---."

"And we have no idea how many of them are out there," he countered.  "We need as much firepower as we can get."

Her lips were tight, her eyes hard.  "Fine," she said.  "I don't have time to argue with you right now."  Turning to the others, she added, "Go to the IHOP where we had breakfast.  As soon as we can get to the Desoto, we'll get out of here and meet you."

"Be careful," Tara warned as the three rushed from the room.

*************

"Why are we just waiting here?" Iris growled in complaint.  Her heels clicked along the cement as she paced in front of the car, her body a lean exercise in feral grace.  The scent of blood hung like copper in the air, causing her face to ripple from human to demon and back to human again, and every time she passed in front of the headlights of the vehicle, she had to resist the urge to kick out the glass.  Her nerves were that much on edge.

"Because good things come to those wait," Sandrine replied.  She didn't appear the slightest bit ruffled by the vampire's outburst, sitting cross-legged on the top of the car as she watched the various doors of the hotel being flung open by Iris' minions descending upon the unsuspecting guests, her aimless humming almost drowned out by the occasional scream of terror.

"You are far too calm for someone who was so mad just a little while ago," Iris said.  "It's not natural."

"Oh, I'm still mad," she replied with a smile.  "Don't worry about that.  It's just that I'm in sniffing distance of paybacks here.  I'm just savoring the moment."  A flash of black leather and bleached hair streaked across a far balcony, and the redhead straightened, sitting up until she was on her knees.  "Bingo," she murmured, and laughed.  "God, Buffy is _so_ predictable.  This is almost too easy."

"I'm glad you think so."  The vampire watched as Sandrine slid off the vehicle, her sneaker-clad feet silent against the pavement.  "Does this mean I can go eat now?" she demanded.

"Just don't touch Freddie," she instructed.  "Take whoever else you want, but that little jerk is mine."

*************

It felt good to fight, even if she knew that somewhere on the other side of all the vamps was someone wearing the face of her best friend, determined to see her fail.  Adrenaline surged through her veins, pumping her heart while her muscles sang in a sympathetic rhythm with the dance around her.  The cord of the gris gris whipped around Buffy's neck as her leg swept out to fell the demon in front of her, and she plunged the stake through its back before it could even hit the floor, its dust scattering in her wake as she moved on to the one beyond it.

Sandrine had arrived with a veritable army, vampires surging through the halls and balconies of the hotel, pulling victims from their rooms and feasting as if the world was about to end in a giant blaze.  The stench of death pricked at the Slayer's nose, but instead of distracting her, it only served to fuel her anger, quickening her blows as she lashed out.  Not everyone would be saved, though she would do her damnedest to try.  The important thing was that her friends got Freddie out safely.  They needed his information too badly to allow him to slip back into Sandrine's clutches.

Somewhere behind her, she heard Giles yell at Spike, something about an enemy behind him, but by the time Buffy had dispatched her current foe and turned to look, she only caught the explosion of dust, followed quickly by the blond's proud smirk when he caught her eye.  "This way," she yelled, pointing toward the stairs that led to the parking lot.  Too many vamps were coming from that direction; she just knew that that was where Iris and Sandrine lie in wait.

The two Englishmen broke into a run to join her, the brief lull she'd created allowing them to cover the distance quickly.  "Haven't had this much fun in ages," Spike commented as he stopped at her side.  Flashes of amber danced in the blue of his eyes, his glee at the violence surrounding them twitching his body in delighted anticipation of more.  "Why haven't we been doin' more of this?"

Before she could reply, a cry from the room behind him came whimpering into the night.  Buffy paused, turning to look at the closed door.  "That sounded like---."

"---a child," Giles finished with a frown.

A quick twist of the knob broke the lock and the Slayer pushed it open to see two vamps crouched over the inert form of a young woman, her throat slashed and her blood flowing freely to stain the carpet.  In the corner, a third demon struggled to control the squirming of a little boy.

Spike was the first to react, leaping over the bed toward the vamp.  With a growl, the demon tossed the child to the side, tackling with the oncoming blond in a fury.  

At the same time, Buffy quickly kicked the other two away from the woman's body.  So wrapped up in killing the pair in front of her, she didn't even notice the dust that suddenly obscured the black leather of her partner.  She only heard the boy's scream as it split the air of the small room.

Her blood froze as she imparted the deadly blow to the second of her targets.  Looking up as quickly as she dared, she was greeted with the sight of the child struggling against Spike, the wastebasket in his tiny arms, swinging it awkwardly toward the demonic visage of his would-be savior.

"I'm one of the soddin' good guys," Spike snarled, but as the bin glanced across his brow, the boy's foot shot out as well, connecting just below the vampire's belt.

"Bloody hell!" he roared at the contact, and shoved the boy from his chest, sending him tumbling to the floor where he then scuttled away towards the Slayer.  "Save the ankle-biter's life and that's the thanks I get?"  He winced as he kicked at the metal bin, sending it flying across the room to clang against the wall, bending slightly at the discomfort in his midsection.

Buffy stooped down to the sobbing child and saw the rug burn that grazed the side of his bare leg.  Crimson oozed from the broken skin and without even thinking, she pursed her lips to blow on it, just as her own mother had done on countless occasions when she'd been growing up.  "It's OK," she said quietly.  "It'll only sting for a minute."

"Spike…"  Giles' voice seemed lost in the now-quiet room, and Buffy glanced up to see him staring at the bleached blond opposite him.

"What?" Spike barked.

"You practically threw that little boy off you.  And…your chip.  It…didn't go off."

Slowly, as if time had turned into a glacial morass, seeping in inexorable languor as it passed by, she swiveled her head to match Giles' gaze.

He had frozen, muscles caught in a limbo of unadulterated awareness, looking back at the Watcher with something akin to fear etched across his angular features.  As soon as he felt Buffy's eyes on him, however, Spike looked down at her, his vampire mask slipping away so that she was left staring up into blue depths that pleaded with her to understand.

That was it.

That was what he'd been trying to tell her.  

That was what had terrified him so thoroughly about her finding out, convincing him she would leave him when she discovered the truth.

The sound of her blood filled her ears, her heart hammering in her throat in a desperate attempt to escape.  Behind her, she heard Giles cock the weapon in his arms, clearing his throat as he did so.  "Buffy," he said, and this time his tone was firm.  "Come here.  Now."

Spike never looked away from her.  Even when she stood up, pulling the little boy with her, his gaze remained steady, a midnight entreaty as he seemed to be waiting for her to run.

"Buffy," Giles repeated.  "I---."

"It's all right."  Her voice was clear, ringing cleanly in their ears.  With a gentle push, she guided her charge toward the Watcher, but didn't let her eyes waver from the blond.  

_I'm not the chip_, he'd said.  

_I can choose not to do that again_.

_Love you so much, Buffy_.

"C'mon," she said, finally turning away.  "We've got to---."

"Didn't you hear me?" Giles demanded as he stood in front of her.  The boy clutched his pants leg, hiding behind his tall frame.  "Spike's chip didn't fire when he hurt the child."

"And I said, it's all right."  Lifting her chin, she half-turned to the vampire, so that he could see her face as she spoke.  "I knew it didn't work anymore.  It…doesn't matter."

Awed disbelief lingered in his aspect as he heard her lie for him, but it was quickly dampened by the small smile that curled his lips, his love shining through as he stepped forward to her side.  If Spike's hands hadn't been thrust into his duster pockets, Buffy would've taken one into hers as she faced back off with her Watcher, her mouth determined as she refused to wait for him to argue with her.

"You can trust him, Giles," she said.  "Just like I've been telling you ever since you got here.  Spike knows what he's doing."

"I don't doubt that," the older man replied.  His face was grim, his body taut.  "The question is…do you?"

She didn't even bother with a response.  Grabbing the edge of his jacket, she pulled the vampire past the body on the floor, around the Watcher and the cowering little boy, and back out onto the balcony.  

"Buffy…"

He stopped when she released her hold on him, looking up into his now serious countenance.  "I trust you, Spike," she murmured, low enough so that only he could hear.  "Please.  Don't make me regret it."

An explosion erupted behind the hotel, orange and red and yellow streaking into the air as smoke and gasoline fumes clogged their senses.  All thoughts of the events inside the room were momentarily erased as one name came to both of their lips.

"Sandrine."

*************

"Come out, come out, wherever you are."

Tara closed her eyes against the sound of her lover's voice singing through the air, trying not to cough as the stench from the inferno raging in the car they'd just fled from sickened her lungs.  It's not Willow, she kept reminding herself.  It's not Willow.

"OK, we're going to have to make a break for it," Xander whispered.  "On the count of three---."

"Why?" Anya demanded.  The four of them were crouched behind a bright yellow Volkswagen, sweat streaking down their faces as the heat raged nearby.  "So she can just blow up the next car we decide to hide behind?  She already took out the rental.  I think Giles can say sayonara to his security deposit."

"Without Buffy or Spike, we can't do a thing to her," Xander said.  "We don't have any other choice."

"Yes, we do."  Her brown eyes settled on the shivering form of Freddie.  "We give him to her."

"What?  No!" Tara argued.

"And why not?" the ex-demon countered.  "He's already told us everything he knows.  He's useless to us now."

"B-b-but, he saved your life!"

"He kidnapped Willow!"

"He's sitting right here!" Freddie exclaimed.  The trio looked at him.  "It won't make a difference if you hand me over or not," he added.  "The mood she's in, you'll be lucky if she doesn't blow you all up, too."

Another explosion ripped through the air, and with a series of shrieks, the group ran for the cover of the next space, their heads ducked.  It wasn't until they escaped the cover of the Beetle, though, that they realized that the next space was also devoid of a vehicle, leaving them exposed to the open air.

"There you are."  The four looked up to see Sandrine standing in the middle of the lot, a pleased smile creasing her friendly face.  The flames from the nearby fires danced across her pale skin, and her eyes glittered in the dark.  "I've been looking everywhere for you, Freddie.  It wasn't very nice to go and run away like that, now was it?"

"Speaking of not very nice…"  Buffy's voice cut over hers as she and Spike appeared out of the shadows.  "Was it _really_ necessary for all the kabooms?  There are people trying to sleep around here, you know.  You missed Mardi Gras by a few months, I think."

All levity vanished from Sandrine's face, leaving a stark mask in its place.  "This isn't about you, Slayer," she warned.  There was no mistaking the flick of her eyes as they took in the charms dangling around the two blonds' necks.  "I just stopped by to pick up my little Judas over there, so be a good little girl and go away."

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that."  Buffy folded her arms across her chest, being careful to keep the gris gris exposed as she took a definitive step forward.  "Freddie's on my watch now."

"He's useless to you."

"And you need him for…what?  Charades?  He does an excellent Dustin Hoffman impression.  I've seen it."

Sandrine's gaze followed Spike as he circled around behind her, taking a position on the opposite side of the Slayer to prevent another avenue for her potential escape.  She laughed.  "Like you can actually stop me," she chortled, and turned back to face the quartet.

When her hands came up, his reaction was automatic, long fingers ripping the leather strap from around his neck as his body twisted toward the group.  "Catch," Spike called, and threw the gris gris as the bolt of magic left Sandrine's palms.

Freddie's hand closed around the charm just as the magic crashed into its power, disintegrating into a shower of sparks onto the cement around him.  He stumbled back in surprise, and then looked up to see the redhead turn with a frown to the bleached blond.

"Looks like it's just you and me, bitch," Spike snarled.

"Looks like," she agreed.  Her frown faded into a small smile.  "What are you going to do?  Snark me to death?  Please.  I know all about your little chip issue."

"Oh, really?"

"Spike!" Buffy yelled.  "No!"

Her shout distracted him for a second, and he glanced past the redhead to the Slayer just long enough for the witch to raise her hands again.

"Well, if I can't have tit," Sandrine said, and aimed her palms at the vampire, "I'll just have to settle for tat."

The flash blinded all of them, driving their hands up to shield their eyes from the light.  When it finally faded away, Buffy had to blink twice before the white spots cleared, making it painfully obvious what had just transpired.

Spike and Sandrine were gone.

To be continued in Chapter 34:  Blue Moods…


	34. Blue Moods

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.  And the chapter titles are courtesy of Miles Davis.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Sandrine attacked the hotel in an attempt to get Freddie, during which time the truth about Spike's chip came out to Buffy and Giles.  Buffy lied about knowing about it, covering for Spike, but when Sandrine was thwarted from snatching Freddie, she disappeared with the vampire instead…

*************

Though sweat was beading along her forehead from the heat generated by the explosions, dripping down between her breasts in a ticklish track, Buffy's skin was chilled as she stared at the empty space in front of her, frost swathing her muscles so that movement was impossible.  

Gone.  They were gone.

Both of them.

Where in hell did they go?  
She heard the tentative steps of the others as they merged onto the lot, but couldn't tear her gaze away, not even when Tara came up beside her and rested a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"What happened?" she heard Xander ask behind her.

"Sandrine teleported out of here," Freddie replied.

"She can do that?"

"She did it before," Buffy murmured, finally finding her tongue.  "In the swamp.  After she attacked Spike."  The ice spread its resolve, stiffening her shoulders.  When she spoke again, her voice rang like a crystal through the smoke-filled air.  "Where'd she go, Freddie?  Where'd she take him?"

"I don't know.  Anywhere."  He flinched when she turned blazing eyes toward him.  "Maybe back to Iris'," he hastened to venture.

"It'll be all right."  Tara's tone was gentle as she gave the Slayer a reassuring squeeze.  "Willow's still somewhere inside Sandrine.  She won't let anything happen to Spike."

"Oh, that's right," Anya said loudly.  "Because she did such a bang-up job in making sure _I_ didn't get hurt.  Bang-up being the key phrase here, of course."

That settled it.  "We've got to find him," Buffy said, but as she began turning toward the others, the squeal of tires from the other side of the parking lot captured her attention, and the group watched as a trail of cars began pealing away from the hotel.  "That's going to be Iris' group.  We'll follow them.  They'll lead us back to Sandrine."  This time, she looked at Xander.  "Where's the car?"

With a grimace, he pointed behind them.  "It would be that flaming ball of scrap metal over there."

"The Desoto then," she said, but before she'd taken two steps, she stopped, shaking her head.  "Except…Spike has the keys."

"I can probably hotwire it," Xander offered.  "Although it might take me a few minutes."

"Do it.  We need transportation as soon as possible.  Iris has got an in with the police around here, and I'm thinking with as much noise as her little minions have made tonight, it's not going to be long before they decide to show up.  We don't need to be sitting in a jail cell all night while Sandrine's doing god knows what to Spike."

Giles' sudden approach at her side cut her off, and she hesitated when she realized he'd overheard the last part of her conversation.  "What's this…about Spike?" he wheezed as he fought to regain his breath.

"He's gone," said Buffy.  "Sandrine took him."

"He saved my life," Freddie volunteered, holding up the gris gris that still dangled from his hand.

"Why?" the Watcher asked.

"Because Sandrine tried snatching him away again."

"And she took Spike because…?"

"Because she's a pissy bitch who doesn't like others to play with her toys!" Buffy exploded in frustration.  "I don't _know_, Giles.  I just know, she came looking for Freddie, Spike intervened, so she took Spike instead.  Does she have a grand master scheme?  Probably.  Do I know what that is?  No.  What I _do_ know is that the longer we stand around here and play twenty questions, the more time she's got to get away."  She refused to quail beneath her Watcher's direct stare.  "We're going after them," she said.  "We're getting him back."

"And how do you…propose to find him?"

"Between Tara being able to sense her magic and Freddie being a member of Sandrine's psychic friends network, I'm thinking it's not going to be that hard once Xander gets the Desoto running."

"Actually," Freddie interrupted, "I'm not really sensing anything with Sandrine right now.  I only did when she got so upset.  She must be calmed down now."

"She's got Spike with her," Xander offered.  "The way his mouth goes, it shouldn't be too long before she gets good and angry again."

"Buffy," the Watcher started.  "We need to talk about this---."

"No."  The single word was clipped as it hung in the air between them.  "This is not a time for talking, Giles.  This is a time for doing.  I'm not going to just stand back and let her get away with this---."

"And she won't.  But without a definitive plan, you'll merely be charging at windmills, and someone else is bound to get hurt as a result.  Do you really want to lose a third person you care about to this…debacle?"

He wasn't chastising her for her feelings for Spike.  With the soft cadence of his voice, the firm but gentle weight of his gaze, he was attempting to cut through her heightened state, to force her to see reason when all she could distinguish was the immediate pain and fury at the vampire's disappearance.  The weight of Tara's hand on her shoulder only served to remind Buffy of the circle of friends she had around her, of how much she had to lose if it dwindled even further, and she felt the tug of resistance loosen in the pit of her stomach.

"What do you suggest then?" she asked quietly.

"We need to get to safety first," Giles replied, matching her tone.  "The vampires seem to be retreating, but the hotel is in a shambles.  Staying here isn't an option, not with Sandrine and Iris knowing our location."

"It's a good thing this is a tourist town," Xander commented.  "I'd begin to worry about running out of hotels to wreck."

"No.  No more hotels.  That makes us too easy to find," Buffy said

"And having Freddie around like our own personal homing beacon for Sandrine doesn't make us easy prey at all," Anya commented dryly.

"If he can't sense her, then we have to play the odds that she can't sense him either," the Slayer went on.  "We have to go someplace where she won't expect to find us."

"Did you have anyplace specific in mind?"

She nodded.  "It should be all clear.  It's only got one bedroom, but the couch is comfy, and there's tons of floor space."

"Right.  So, let's pack up and get going then."  The Watcher stood aside as the group filed past him back toward their rooms, before squinting in the direction of the flaming cars.  "By the way, what happened to the rental?"

*************

Asking Tara for help in packing didn't garner any unnecessary attention from the others, so Buffy was relieved when she shut the door behind them.  This was going to be a lot easier if she could get her own answers first, without having to worry about fielding questions from the rest of the gang.

"Did you guys have separate bags?" Tara asked as she crossed to the clothes hanging by the bathroom.  "Or do you want me to just put Spike's things in with your yours?"

"How did you know?"

Her query, though out of the blue, only brought the shortest of hesitations to the witch's movements, and she turned calm eyes to the Slayer.  "He finally told you," she said simply.

"No, he hurt a little boy."  She shook her head at the sudden shock that sprang across Tara's face.  "It was an accident.  He was saving him and there were feet connecting with very sensitive parts and Spike over-reacted.  But that doesn't matter.  What matters is that his chip went kaplooiey, and that you knew this before I did."

"Actually, Spike thinks it's not there at all.  Something the seer you got the gris gris from said."

"_She_ knew before me, too?  Was there some billboard on this that I missed or something?"  Buffy collapsed onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling.  "I thought Spike being on our side was supposed to make things easier.  He's done so much, and…he's trying so hard.  And did you _see_ how he just threw that gris gris to Freddie?"  She exhaled heavily and closed her eyes.  "Stupid vamp," she muttered.

Setting down the t-shirts she'd already started pulling from the hangers, Tara crossed to the edge of the bed and sat down next to the Slayer.  "Everything will be all right," she soothed.  "Telling the others shouldn't be a problem now, not now that they've seen him like we have."

"Giles already knows.  He was there for the floor show.  He wigged in a huge way, so I lied to him and told him I already knew about it.  That it was all right."

"Which it is…right?"

The soft question drew Buffy's eyes back open.  "Only if we get Spike back in one piece.  That's the only all right scenario I'll be happy with."  Trying to be upset with Tara was as hard as it was trying to be upset with Willow for extended periods of time, she realized.  And was it really fair?  "So how come you get to be the best friend and confidante, while I just get to be his kept-in-the-dark girlfriend who has to find everything out the hard way?" she asked.

Tara smiled at the slight annoyance in the other girl's tone.  "It's not like he came out and told me, Buffy," she said.  "He saved me from getting attacked by a couple of jerks at the magic shop.  I'm sure you would've been the first one on his list of people to tell if I hadn't figured it out first."

"I'm going to ask Giles to do a drive-by of where we rescued Anya," Buffy said as she rose from the bed and began pulling her things out of the drawers.  "Not that I really expect Sandrine to go with the obvious and take him back there, but at least you'll be able to confirm for us whether it's still an option."  She glanced at the witch as Tara returned to the hanging clothes.  "You _can_ still do the sensing of her magic thing, right?"

She nodded.  "It's actually stronger now.   She's…growing in power, I think."

Not exactly what she wanted to hear right now, but Buffy remained stoic.  "Then that just means we have to work faster to get Spike and Willow back," she said.  She didn't vocalize the thought that came immediately after; they needed all the positive attitudes they could manage right now.

_Before it's too late_.

*************

The car was the last place she had wanted to talk about it, but as soon they had gone by Iris' apartment building and found no traces of Sandrine's magic, Giles had introduced the subject of Spike's chip.  To his credit, he had waited until Xander had turned on the radio, keeping his voice as low as possible as he addressed Buffy, but with so many sets of ears crammed into the vehicle, it was unavoidable that someone would overhear something.

"Is that the chip Sandrine told me keeps Spike from hurting people?" Freddie asked from Buffy's other side.

"What's this about the Spike's chip?" Xander piped up from the driver's seat, turning down the music slightly.

She saw his eyes flickering to the rearview mirror, and Buffy pressed her lips together, wishing that for once, Giles had kept his opinion to himself for longer than five minutes.  But her talk with Tara had bolstered her determination to do right by Spike, and it wasn't like she hadn't already committed herself to standing by him.  The only thing she had to worry about was whether or not Xander would drive them off the road when he heard the news.

"It's gone."  Best to just get it out there.  Short and sweet.  Keep the shock value to a minimum.

"Gone?  What do you mean gone?"

"Gone.  As in…not there anymore."

The car coasted to a stop at a light.  "How?  How is that possible?"

"I thought it just didn't work anymore," Giles stated with a frown.

She caught Tara's eye, and swallowed in resolve.  "Nope.  Gone.  At least, that's what Clara said."

"Clara…?  Isn't that the vodou mama who gave you your little mojo forcefield?  What, does she have X-ray vision, too?"

Buffy shrugged at Xander's question, trying to make it seem as nonchalant as possible as she shared the details she'd gotten from Tara.  "I don't know the specifics.  I only know that she said it wasn't there, and that nothing fires when Spike…"  Her voice trailed off.  Any word she picked was going to get attacked, and while it didn't bother her, she knew that wasn't going to be true with the other men in her life.  "…hurts humans," she finished, finally deciding to just say it like it was.

The light changed to green, and she was grateful when his eyes disappeared from the mirror to concentrate on the sliver of window he could actually see through in front of him.  "And again with the how," he demanded.

"We're not sure," she conceded.  She grasped for the few particulars Tara had volunteered.  "Spike's got a theory that his little Cecily wannabe visitor had something to do with it, but that would mean she's either the world's best brain surgeon or some kind of witch.  Given our history, I'm leaning toward witch."

"Or demon," Tara said.  "That's always a possibility, too."

"So why wasn't he stake food as soon as you found out?" Xander asked.  "Why is it we're even worrying about getting him back from Sandrine if he's gone all evil again?"

"Because he's not evil," she shot back harshly.  Her eye caught the terrain outside the open window.  "Turn left here."  She saw the grim determination on her friend's face, and though her anger was rising inside at his casual bandying of the word "evil," she could see how he'd get that.  Hadn't she been there herself before this whole New Orleans trip?  It had taken the intensive time they'd spent together to see past the façade Spike so studiously erected in her presence.  How could she expect Xander to see him any differently?

"This is Spike," he said, as if that was enough explanation.

"The same Spike who saved my life," Tara said quietly, ignoring the confusion lingering on the brunette's face when he glanced at her.

"And not like I'm head cheerleader for anyone vampy after havin' to put up with Iris the past few days, but he was awful willing to play catch with me with his little gris gris," Freddie added.

In the mirror, Buffy caught Xander's frown, but she deliberately turned her head when the house appeared out of the corner of her eye.  "This is it," she said, pointing out the window.  "Pull over here."

Seeing the darkened windows of the Green Dolphin cottage sent a stab of melancholic nostalgia through her chest, and she sighed as the car eased to a stop along the curb.  "What is this place?" she heard Giles ask as he opened the door to step out onto the sidewalk.

"The house Spike and I stayed at before Pablo sold us out to Iris," she replied, clambering from the back seat.  "As long as it's empty, it'll be the last place they expect us to go back to."

"Is it safe?"

"As safe as anyplace is, provided no one's around."  She held up a hand to stop the others from getting out of the Desoto just yet.  "Let me just do a quick sweep to make sure it's clear."

Giles turned back toward the car, but surprised Buffy when instead of getting in, he pulled out the crossbow from earlier.  "I'm coming with you," he said, straightening, and his tone brooked no argument.

They were both silent as they skirted the outer edge of the cottage, but once the internal view from the lanai confirmed for them that the house was just as it was when the pair had left it before---minus a scaled demon unconscious on the still-shattered piano---the Slayer let loose the breath she hadn't realized she was holding.  "It looks like Pablo skipped," she said, "but other than that, we should be OK."

"Buffy…"  His quiet voice halted her turn back toward the car, and she glanced up to see his face hidden in the shadows, the moonlight haloing his head in silver.  Though the combination of the dark and his spectacles kept the intent of his gaze sequestered from her scrutiny, his voice held no recriminations when he spoke.  "No matter what you may want to believe, a chip is not a soul."

With that one statement, Buffy realized he wasn't going to ask her to qualify her relationship with Spike.  Not when he already seemed to know.  "I'm not saying it is," she said quietly.  "And I'm not so blind not to see that it's going to be hard.  For either me or Spike.  But I've seen his heart, Giles.  And I've seen how much he's trying to be more than what we think he is.  This isn't about judging him for what he _might_ do.  This is about giving him the chance to be judged for what he _actually _does.  If something goes terribly wrong and he decides to kill again, you _know _I'll be the first one in line to do something about it.  Didn't I prove that with Angel?  But…after everything here, with choosing to save Freddie when he didn't have to, with…everything else…right now, he deserves our faith in him.  I think he's earned it."

He was silent as he regarded her, his mouth thin.  She wasn't good at the explanations, or in trying to put words on the instincts that she usually let rule her life.  She could only hope that some of her logic made sense, and that Giles would trust her opinion on this.

When he spoke, his voice was still so low, she had to strain to hear him.  "I have a theory about the garde on Freddie's arm and how we can use it to locate Spike," he said.  And it was that statement, the careful avoidance of any direct argument with her statements, the casual utterance of his thoughts on how to rescue the vampire, that assured the Slayer of her Watcher's acceptance of Spike's integration within the group, and his trust in her belief of him.  Though the desire to throw her arms around him and hug him in gratitude was great, she refrained, bestowing upon him instead her brightest of smiles.

"Let's get everyone inside first," she said.  "I think we'll think clearer once we've got some walls between us and Sandrine."

*************

The first thing he became aware of was the cool feel of something hard against his back.  Bare skin, he realized, pressed into the relative smoothness of what was unmistakably stone.  The question as to why his torso was bare, however, was soon forgotten in Spike's realization that he wasn't physically bound, and slowly, he opened his eyes to survey his surroundings.

Dark, but not too dark, with the faint faraway drip that suggested damp.  Carefully, he turned his head, eyes glinting in gold as he vamped just enough to take it all in.  Someplace underground, but not a tunnel.  More like one of the numerous hideaways that lurked beneath the surface of the Big Easy.  An open entrance disappeared into ebony, while candles glinted at the side of a king-sized bed that seemed very much out of place in light of where he was.

He quickly realized that it wasn't just his back that was bare.  Looking down, Spike noted the absence of his usual attire, his upper body and feet both bereft of covering, while blue silk pyjama bottoms billowed around his legs.  Another sweep of the room didn't reveal his belongings, though, and he scowled at the loss.

"Not that I'm all that fussed about the cold," he called out to whoever just might be in attendance.  "But taking a bloke's kit isn't exactly the way to get onto his good side."

"I like this look better."  He turned his head to see Sandrine lounging in the open doorway, but kept his face aloof as he absorbed the black slip dress that molded to her curves.  "And can I just say?  For being such a bitch, Buffy sure does have yummy taste in boyfriends."

"Is that what this is all about then?  You got an itch for a bit of cold comfort?  Hate to disappoint, ducks, but you're not really my type."

She smiled, her teeth gleaming white in the flickering candle as she stepped toward him.  "See, now, it doesn't do you any good to lie to me, Spike," she said lightly.  "Because I have all of the little witch's memories, so I know all about the times you went to see her."  Her brow furrowed as she pretended to try and remember.  "Wasn't it just last fall that you told Willow you'd even considered biting her?  Something about a pink fluffy number, I think."

He kept his gaze cold.  "The thing of it is, though, you're not Red."

"No, I'm not."  Coming to a stop directly in front of him, Sandrine's head tilted as her eyes drank in the sight of his sculptured chest, one hand coming up to trace the outline of a well-defined pec.  "I'm better."

With a blur, Spike's hand flew up to catch her wrist, keeping his touch firm but painfree so that she wouldn't know about the status of his chip just yet.  That was his wild card, and he knew it.  "Like I said," he said, his tone clipped.  "Not interested."

Her bottom lip jutted out into a pout.  "See, I don't get you, Spike," she said.  "From everything I have from Willow's memory, and everything Iris has told me about you, you should be chomping at the bit to get out from under the Slayer's stylish heel.  What happened to wanting to wreak havoc and go for the jugular?  I thought you'd be excited to get out of Buffy's shadow and finally start having a little fun again."

"Now, you're just not lookin' at it from the right perspective," he drawled with a smile.  "'Cause the way _I_ see it…pissing you off?  Best spot of fun I've had in a bloody moon."

The rake of her nails across his cheek was expected, but Spike's grin only widened as he felt the familiar sting of the cool air hitting his exposed scratches, swiveling his head back to stare into the glittering green depths of her eyes.  "So pathetic," she bit out.  "Like a whipped little puppy.  I don't know what it is that you and the witch see in the Slayer.  Bossy, holier than thou, with a god complex the size of Texas.  You could do so much better."

"You mean, like a skanky, two-bit, has-been mambo, who has to satisfy her bout of penis envy by summoning a soddin' snake demon?  Yeah, pet, you're right. That's just _soooo_ much better."

She pulled herself away then, her face contorted into a snarl, and Spike saw too late the magic erupting from her hands.  Fire burst into a wall around him, encasing him in a coffin of flames against the wall, and he pressed himself back into the stone to keep it as far away from his skin as possible.  When he tried to test his prison by reaching forward, wondering if he dared to make a break for it and risk momentary immolation before getting free, the inferno blazed and crackled harder, thickening to molasses until he knew with certainty that getting through it would take more time than he could guarantee not going up in dust with it.

Through the orange and crimson, Sandrine's mouth twisted in angry glee.  "Now _that's_ fun," she said.

"Don't know why you're bloody pussyfooting around with me," he snapped.  "Just stake me and get it over with.  I'm of no use to you."  Not that he really wanted that to happen, of course, but the bitch was annoying him with her parlor tricks.

"That's where you're wrong," she replied.  "And really, it's your own fault by sticking your nose in where it doesn't belong.  If you'd just let me take Freddie in the first place, we could've avoided all this.  But no, you had to go all John Wayne and ride to the rescue.  So, instead of me using Freddie as my sacrifice to Sira, you get to take his place instead."  She smiled, but this time there was no mirth in it.  "Aren't you the lucky one…?"

To be continued in Chapter 35: Speak Like a Child…


	35. Speak Like a Child

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.  And the chapter titles are courtesy of Miles Davis.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Sandrine has kidnapped Spike and stashed him somewhere underground, while Buffy has taken the gang back to Green Dolphin Street, letting them know about the chip along the way…

*************

The guys were taking the bedroom, at Buffy's insistence.  "Not that I don't trust Freddie not to make break for it again," she said.  "But I don't.  And he's less of a flight risk if he's contained in an inside room."

There was more to it than that, but she was keeping the rest of her reasons to herself.  Did the gang really need to know about the memories she harbored of her last night here with Spike?  The intense pleasure from their escapades on the now-demolished piano, followed by the cuddling in the bed they shared, the argument that ensued after she awoke.  It seemed like a lifetime ago, ages apart and separate from the Slayer that now stood impatiently in the middle of the living room, waiting for the others to finish the protection spell they were casting around the bedroom in an attempt to keep Sandrine at bay.

This Slayer was doing everything she could to hold back the fear about what might happen if they didn't get to Spike in time.  Command mode, full on.  Try not to think about the emotional ramifications of him being gone.  Concentrate on what it's going to take to get him and Willow back.

But the anxiety swelled inside her chest like a balloon filled with acid, burning through the rubber to scorch her lungs and drive her feet to pace the length of the room.  What was stopping Sandrine from killing him?  Why take him in the first place?  Actually, she knew the answer to the latter question.  She did it to piss Buffy off.  And boy oh boy, did it work.

She couldn't think about the possibility of him not being around for her to rescue, though.  Dwell on that and she'd never get anything done.  Remember what it had been like when things had been good…telling him she loved him…hearing him say the words back to her…seeing the wonder gleaming in his eyes when she'd stood by his side in front of Giles about the chip.  She would get it back.  

She would fight the bitch to hell if that's what it took.

Buffy froze in mid-step when Xander and Anya emerged from the bedroom, Tara close behind them.  "Well?" she demanded.  "Is it all done?  Where's Giles?"

"He's trying some meditation techniques with Freddie to try and get him to focus on Sandrine," Anya explained.  "He's going to be a while."

"A _long_ while," Xander chimed.  "I can't believe how wound up that guy is over this vodou chick."

"You saw what she did to those cars," Tara said.  "Can you really blame him?"

"So…that's it?  Giles' big plan is _yoga_?"  She'd started to pace again, blonde hair swinging as she kept shaking her head.  "Willow is missing in action, Sandrine's probably got plans to make Spike vamp on a stick, and we have no idea if Giles channeling Deepak Chopra is even going to work."

"Listen, about Spike---."

"Not now, Xander," Buffy said harshly, holding up her hand to cut him off.  "I _really_ don't have the patience to be dealing with your issues, right now."

"This isn't about that.  This is about the chip."

Her veins ran cold as she braced herself.  It was going to keep coming back to this, wasn't it?  Why was it they couldn't trust her when she said it was all right?  Or listen to Tara?  OK, so maybe they didn't know her as well as they did Buffy, but they'd have to be deaf, dumb, and blinder than Giles during Willow's spell last fall not to see that she was the most rational one of the bunch.  "What about it?" she asked tightly.  "We've already had this conversation in the car.  It's not like we can put it back inside his head, you know."

"As much as I love the idea of trying, that's not what I'm talking about here."  He perched himself on the edge of the couch, taking a deep breath.  "It just doesn't make sense, Buff.  Why would _anyone_ want to unleash Spike?"

"Yeah," Anya said.  "This Cecily person that you and Tara were talking about.  The one Spike seems to think is responsible.  What's her motive for making him capable of killing again?"

"We don't know," Buffy admitted.  "We don't even know who this Cecily person really is.  Spike said the only Cecily he'd known was from his pre-fang days.  We toyed with the idea that it might be Sandrine's doing, but that doesn't make sense to us now."

"Why?  Sandrine's powerful.  What we saw at the hotel is just the tip of the iceberg.  If she wanted, she could sink us faster than the Titanic and we'd never even know what hit us."  She nodded as all eyes settled on her.  "Trust me on this.  I've run across some strong witches in my time.  She's one of the best.  Taking the chip out would be child's play for her."

"Because Freddie said she's got all of Willow's memories.  She knows that Spike's chip made it impossible for him to hurt her.  She knew he wasn't a threat.  Taking it away turns him into one, and if there's one thing I _have_ figured out about Sandrine, it's that she's not stupid."  Her energy seemed to fail her, and Buffy collapsed onto the opposite end of the couch, sighing wearily.  "It's got to be just some fluky coincidence.  Spike's got some mysterious benefactor who just happened to be in New Orleans the same time we did, and wanted to do an old friend a favor by magically cutting out his chip…"  Her voice faded, and she grimaced.  "OK, I'm not buying that, either."

"Maybe it's Iris," Xander said.

Buffy shook her head.  "She didn't even know about the chip."

"Maybe Sandrine told her."

"And that would accomplish what exactly?  I've turned this over and over in my head until the big wheel just smashed into the wall of no good answers, Xander.  There isn't anyone I can think of---human, demon, or otherwise---who could have the smallest iota of motivation in seeing Spike get back into the buffet line.  All it's really done is serve to distract you from thinking about our Sandrine problem and focus instead on him when he's not the issue here."

"Maybe that's it," said Anya.  "Maybe it's a diversionary tactic.  That could be why Sandrine did it.  She probably figured that if Spike was loose, you'd go after him and leave her alone long enough to summon Sira.  Of course, she didn't take into account that you'd care enough about him to be willing to overlook the fact that he's now capable of ripping out the throats of your family and friends."

The bluntness of her tone took all three of them aback, but Buffy was the first to find her tongue.

"Spike is _not_ going to hurt anyone!" she argued vehemently.  "How many times do I have to tell you guys that?"

"I didn't say he would," Anya countered.  "Just that he was capable of it."

"And what's this about Buffy _caring_ about Spike?" Xander said.  "Last time I checked, she found him just as repulsive and irritating as the rest of us do."

The quiet that met his words echoed dully around the room, the only responses they garnered a bemused raising of his girlfriend's eyebrows, and the sudden stain in the Slayer's cheeks.  His gaze darted between the girls, expecting some sort of back-up from one of the others, but gradually clouded as he realized it wasn't coming.

"Oh, no," he said.  "Don't tell me you're all Blind Vamp's Buffy when it comes to _Spike_, now---."

"Don't."  Her eyes flashed in warning.  "You don't know him the way I do, Xander.  He's changed."

"But you haven't," he said in a low voice.  "It's always about the vamps with you, isn't it?"  Whirling on his heel, he marched through the patio doors and into the midnight, slamming them behind him so hard that they rattled in their frames.

"Crap," Buffy muttered.  They couldn't afford to have any dissension now, not with both Spike and Willow at risk.  

"Don't worry," Anya said, surprisingly cheerful.  "He'll come around.  He may be slow, but he's been remarkably insightful the past couple days.  And if he gives you a hard time, just remind him that he's head over heels with an ex-vengeance demon.  That should shut him right up."  Both girls looked at her with wide eyes, and she shrugged.  "Just because I love him, doesn't mean I'm not aware he can be a complete ass sometimes," she said.  "Now, about Spike's chip.  Do you think it could've been Sandrine who came around the hotel wearing some kind of glamour?"

Tara shook her head.  "This felt totally different."

"Well, what did she look like then?  Maybe I saw her hanging around with Sandrine and Iris.  In between being kicked, magicked, and generally abused, of course."

"Just…normal.  Pretty.  Dark curly hair.  Huge eyes.  Great skin."

Anya seemed to muse on it for a moment, repeating Tara's words under her breath.  On the second reiteration, she stopped and rolled her eyes.  "Damn it," she said.  "I should've known better."

"What?  You know who this Cecily is?"

"She's not Cecily.  She's Halfrek."  

Tara frowned.  "That is…your vengeance demon friend, isn't it?  The one you told us about?"

"That would be her.  The bitch."

"But I thought vengeance demons only were able to cast spells like that if someone made a wish."  Buffy felt her stomach plummet.  Spike hadn't mentioned this even as a possibility.  "That would mean…"

"He didn't."  Tara was firm.  "He was just as taken surprise by the chip being gone as any of the rest of us.  He didn't know what to make of it."

"She could've still done it if D'Hoffryn authorized it as a valid use of her powers," Anya explained.  "That's one of the perks of being the boss.  Damn it all!"

"And this is the guy who tried to stop you from getting involved back in Sunnydale," Buffy mused.  Rising to her feet, she resumed her pacing, her body screaming in gratitude for the diversion.  Something she could tackle.  Something definitive.  A demon.  A demon she could kill.  "Sounds like he's got a vested interest in seeing Sira summoned."

"No, he's got a vested interest in getting the voix mortelle back.  Which means it has to be intact, which means he's probably planning on getting it after she's fixed it and done her job."

"So…he wants his staff back.  We want to get it away from Sandrine.  It sounds to me like we're on the same side here.  So, why is he trying so hard to stop us?"

"How about, because you're the _Slayer_."  Anya spoke as if she were addressing a child.  "Opposite sides of the fence, remember?  Good, evil.  He takes those labels very seriously.  And, frankly, he probably thinks you're beneath him.  He's Mr. Man in Charge when it comes to the vengeance world, and you…you're just another vampire slayer with a limited life span and a pointy stick."

Buffy stopped in her tracks, her head already lost in potential plans.  "You can summon him, right?  Isn't that what you were going to do when Willow's spell went wonky last fall?"

"No, I can open a portal to Arashmaharr, which, please tell me, you're not even considering.  That's suicide.  That's playing on D'Hoffryn's home turf, and if that's your grand plan, you might as well just kill yourself now because if you try and attack him there?  You're just going to be one more bloodstain on his floor."

"Maybe we don't need to kill him," Tara volunteered.  She ignored Anya's muttered, "Like you even could," and added, "Maybe we just need to convince him that it's better to work together on this than apart."

"Convincing him requires his presence, and I already told you, I can't do that," the ex-demon argued.

"So we get an envoy," the witch countered.  "Halfrek.  You summoned her before.  We'll just summon her again."

Brown eyes flickered between them, resulting in a long-drawn out sigh.  "Fine, I'll do it, but I'm telling you, it's a waste of time," Anya said.  "D'Hoffryn will never agree to a truce."

"Time seems to be our favorite commodity today," Buffy commented.  "And lucky for you, my schedule seems to be free."

*************

He wasn't in pain, but he was bored as all fuck, staring at the witch's prone form on the bed through the flames that danced around his head in a serpentine scarlet.  She'd left up the barrier before collapsing into a traitorous slumber, green eyes shooting daggers with every passing glance in his direction.  Keeping himself still and far away from the danger wasn't an issue, but it couldn't keep his mind occupied, and Spike was hungering for distraction.  Even Harris would be welcome, at that exact moment in time.

When she stirred on the bed, he almost didn't notice, accustomed already to her restless sleep.  When she sat up, though, muscles sluggish like liquid tar, and turned her head in an inexorable arc to look at him, Spike frowned, trying to listen past the magical barrier to her body's rhythms.  It was impossible, he knew; every thump and pulse of her veins was hidden beneath the hiss and crackles of the conflagration that bound him to the icy wall.  Yet, when she rose from the mattress and crossed the distance between them, he could've sworn he could hear the adrenaline pumping incognito beneath her skin.

Her pale face was distorted behind the fire, eyes locked on his as her thin hands came up to press palm-side out against her spell.  Immediately, the licks of crimson disappeared, vanishing in a vapor that left him facing her in confusion.

"If you think all it takes is a little time for me to change my mind," he said, the tension easing slightly as he relaxed his stance, "you're goin' to be sorely mistaken."

A slow shake of her head, as if the exertion took her full attention.

Spike's eyes narrowed, blue searching green.  The same emerald orbs that had burned into him so maliciously just a few hours earlier now glinted in quiet desperation, begging him without a word to look past the façade.  "Red?" he murmured, and felt a stab of satisfaction when she smiled back at him.  "What…?  How…?"

She quieted him by putting her hand to his mouth, and instead pointed toward the exit.  His eyes followed only to return to her uplifted face.

"You want me to go."  A nod this time.  "Not without takin' you with me."

He saw the struggle play itself across her fine features, and heard the heart that had been pumping in lazy beats begin to quicken.  The small rise of her breasts was accompanied by the closing of her eyes, as if she were preparing herself for a race.  The last thing he expected was to hear her voice.

"I can't."  Soft, and breathy, and oh yeah, that was Red.  "She's…stronger than me.  I can only take control when she's sleeping, or just waking up."

"I'll protect you.  Just let me get you back to the Slayer."

"No."  Eyes open now, shining up at him.  "Sandrine'll kill you before you make it out of the sewers.  But there's a way to stop her, to send her back.  Tell Freddie…"  Her voice broke off in a harsh rasp that sent shivers down his spine.  As Spike watched, the redhead's muscles tensed and released, tensed and released again, as she fought for control.

"…tell Freddie…"  Whispers now, and he began to inch away from her, torn between not wanting to be caught by the mambo's fury when she awoke and not willing to leave the fragile witch behind.  "…if he calls for the djab, it can be reversed.  But…it has to be soon.  She's…summoning Sira…tonight."

His heel caught a small stone on the floor, hesitating his gait.  "I'm sorry, Red," Spike said.  "I wish…"

"Just go."

Those words were rougher, and he watched as she stumbled back against the bed, finishing his flight to the door.  "Tara," he said.  "She loves you, y'know.  She's fighting for you.  We all are."

He caught the shine slip down her cheek before fleeing into the darkness of the tunnels, his bare feet slapping against the stone as he ran as fast as his legs would carry him.

Distance first.  Get away from her vicinity so that she couldn't find him.

And then get to Buffy.  Before the sun came up and he was trapped.

The question was…how?

*************

He'd known someone would come out after him.  Nobody could ever let anything go in this group, gnawing at each and every word or action like it was a bone and they were a starving dog.  The fact that it was Buffy didn't even surprise him, either.  After all, she was the one he'd just flayed open with his words.

"Hey," she said softly, sitting beside him on the bench that overlooked the lanai.  She leaned back onto her hands, staring up at the night sky, hair trailing down her back in a fluid sheath made silvery by the moon.

"Hey," Xander replied.  He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, his forearms resting on his knees.  The stress was getting to her; he could see it in the tautness of her muscles.  Yet, at the same time, a softness lingered behind the limpid pools of her aspect, one he hadn't witnessed in the Slayer for a very long time.  And the possibility of why it was there made his heart ache.

"For as many hours as I spend outside at night, you'd think I'd have learned at least _some_ of the constellations by now."  Her tone was light, but he'd known her too long not to have noticed the sobriety behind her words.

"Ah, but then slaying would be an educational activity, and we can't really have that now, can we?" he joked half-heartedly.  "Mindless violence.  That's what it's about.  Leave the booklearning to Will and Giles."

A ghost of a smile curved her lips.  "Tara and Anya aren't so shabby in the brains department either.  I think they've figured out who might be behind Spike's chip being gone.  They're in there now getting things set up."

And there it was.  The albatross he'd been hoping to avoid.  It was stupid, really, to think that she would come out here and _not_ talk about the very thing that drove him from her presence in the first place.  After all, subtlety was never Buffy's strong suit.  

"Why do you hate him so much?"

Neither was patience.

Xander's head dropped at her question, blankly staring at his feet.  "I don't hate him," he said quietly.  "I don't _like_ him, but that's different."

"Then what's your problem with this?  With him…and me, being together?"

"Because…"  Long fingers ran through his hair, rumpling it even more, as if his answers could be pulled out from his follicles and grant him a reprieve from his ignorance.  "…you can do better than that," he said.  "You…deserve better than being with another vampire."  He looked up then, and Xander knew that his confusion shone in his eyes, though he hated looking so weak in front of her.  "Is it a Slayer thing?  Is that why you only seem to be truly happy when you've got a vampire for a boyfriend?"

She stiffened, head turning from the velvet of the sky to look at him with a frown.  "No.  Why would you say something like that?"

"First there was Angel, and you bent over backwards to get us to accept him.  But he finally figured out he couldn't give you what he needed and he did the smart thing and left town---."

"He ran away, Xander.  Call it for what it is."

"Maybe that's the way it looks to you, but trust me.  From this male's perspective, it makes perfect sense."

"Spike doesn't think so."

His hands balled into fists at the sound of the demon's name.  "My money says he just told you that so he could get into your pants, Buff---."  He never got the chance to finish the sentence, the words choking in his throat as she shoved him forcefully from the bench to send him sprawling against the cement.

"Is that what you think of me, Xander?"  She was standing over him, hands on her hips, righteous indignation seeping from every pore of her exposed skin.  "You think I'd go all weak in the knees and soft in the head, risking everyone and everything, just because Spike's so good in bed?  God, what kind of a person do you think I am?"

"Buffy, that's not what I meant…."  His head was aching as he pulled himself up into a sitting position, his fingers automatically going up to feel the knot already forming over his eye.  When her hand shot out to help him to his feet, he took it silently, staying his tongue until they stood facing each other.

"I'm sorry."

Their apologies were mutual, as well as their corresponding blushes.  He held his hand out to let her know to proceed first.

"I shouldn't have pushed you," Buffy said.  "It's just…my nerves.  I'm a little frazzled right now.  I'm lashing out."  She snorted, rolling her eyes.  "Literally."

"And I've got to learn to keep my big mouth closed," he replied.  "You don't need to be hearing my garbage when we've got so many other things to be worrying about."

"It's not garbage.  Your opinion…matters to me.  It's just…I don't think you're giving Spike a chance here.  He's…it's…he's not like he used to be.  I mean, he _is_, but there's more, like he's letting us, or me rather, because if you were seeing it too, we wouldn't be having this conversation…"  She stopped.  "I'm turning into Willow.  Listen to me babble because I'm terrified I'm going to say the wrong thing here."

"Then that makes two of us."

She took a deep breath.  "I'm not asking you to be his best friend, Xander.  I'm just asking that you trust my judgment enough to know what I'm doing.  Spike's doing everything he can to try and be a better person, and OK, so maybe you guys haven't seen a whole lot of that, but I'm telling you.  It's there.  I'm not being blinded by his hair, or taken in by the accent.  It's real.  What's between us…is real.  And it's not going away.  Not even if you guys don't approve."

"It's not that I don't approve."  He blushed at her lifted brows.  "OK, so maybe it is a little bit.  It's just…you deserve better than just another vamp."

"I know.  But…he's _not_ just another vamp.  He's more.  He's taking what he's been given and trying to make himself into something better.  The chip being gone doesn't change any of that.  All it does is prove to the world that Spike is stronger than his demon.  That he has the power to choose to do good.  Which he has, Xander.  He saved Tara's life, and he's doing everything he can to help get Willow back, as well as countless other things you guys haven't had a chance to see."

"And you love him."

"Yes."  Her eyes ducked.  "I wasn't expecting it, but you of all people should know that you don't get to pick who you care about.  I mean…"  And her gaze came back up, searching his with an openness that pleaded him to hear her.  "…did you ever see yourself falling in love with an ex-demon?  I know we sometimes give you a hard time about Anya, but…I can see now what you see in her.  How she's trying so hard to do the right thing.  Because she cares.  Just like Spike does."

For the first time since she'd come out, he realized he couldn't hear her breathing over the song of cicadas in the shadows, not even with having her stand so close to him.  Waiting.  She was waiting.  Holding her breath while she anticipated the sentence she knew he was going to pass onto her.

"I still think you deserve better," he finally said, and was relieved to hear her exhale.  He smiled, a crooked grin reminiscent of easier days.  "And chip or no chip, if he hurts you in any way, I'll stake him myself.  Or get Willow to cast a spell that gives him gout or something.  I'm not sure which."

Her laugh was musical in the clear air, her relief palpable.  "Vampires don't catch human diseases.  You know that," she joked.

"Wood it is, then.  Which is probably better in the long run anyway, because my luck with magic borders on the obscenely bad."

They were chuckling as they began walking toward the house.  This was better.  He didn't like it when people argued.  He especially didn't like it when he was one of the arguers.  And she was right about Anya, which meant there was a good chance she was right about Spike, as much as he hated to admit it.  People changed.  Demons changed.

And life went on.

*************

It was the creak of the floorboards that woke her.  Muscles froze as Clara tensed, listening to the soft tread of whoever had just let themselves into her apartment near her bedroom.  Peeking through her lashes at the clock at her side, she noted the early morning hour, and wondered just what it was that was bringing someone to her before the sun could even rise.  An emergency, obviously.  That's all her life was these days.

When the door opened, she had already sat herself up in her bed, reaching for the robe that was draped over the foot of the mattress.  Her dark eyes captured the reflection of the low-hanging moon through the window, but it was nothing compared to the ivory cut of Spike's bare chest as he stepped into the pool of light.

"Just because you have a standing invitation into my home," she said, the slightest of scolds in her tone, "doesn't mean you can stop on by and visit for a spell whenever the fancy takes you."

"This isn't a visit."  The fabric of his trousers shimmered as he moved closer to her, deceptively dark against his pale skin.  "I need your help."

"I know."  She sighed.  "I just wish you didn't need it at this hour of the morning."  She swung her legs over the side of the bed.  "I'll have to call Peter.  I don't do much driving anymore."

"Hang on there.  I haven't even told you what I need you to do."

Clara shook her head.  "Not necessary," she said.  "I already know.  Seer, remember?"  Softly, she patted his cheek, as if she were reassuring a child.  "Don't worry, Spike.  I'll help you find your Slayer."

To be continued in Chapter 36:  Baby, Won't You Please Come Home…


	36. Baby, Won't You Please Come Home

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.  And the chapter titles are courtesy of Miles Davis.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Willow has helped Spike escape, and he's gone to Clara for assistance in finding Buffy and the gang, while the rest of the Scoobies have figured out that Halfrek had something to do with the chip being missing…

*************

"Really, I thought we'd grown past demon-napping each other, Anyanka."

"Well, you don't write, you don't call…what's a gal supposed to do?"

"I thought I'd told you everything you wanted to know."

"Maybe if you'd kept your big nose out of Spike's head, that might've been true, Halfrek."

"Not that I know what you're referring to, but that's a gruesome image, even for you."

"Stop playing dumb.  We know you're the one who took Spike's chip out.  Did D'Hoffryn put you up to it?"

"Spike?  I don't believe I'm familiar with that name.  Is he your dog?  Oh, please don't tell you're indulging in human whimsies regarding _pets_, now."

"It's pointless trying to pretend, you know.  I'm the one who let you into the room, remember?"

The last was from Tara, and with her now joining in on the confrontation of the vengeance demon, Buffy sighed, leaning as casually as she could against the arm of the couch, arms folded across her chest as she waited for something to do.  Halfrek was contained in whatever magical thingamabob that was binding her to the room, which meant the Slayer couldn't touch her.  And as for questioning her, well, when it came to nagging as an interrogation method, she had to admit Anya was her better.  And Tara was there to play good cop, so the equation was already balanced.  Everyone else was pretty much superfluous.

Of course, everyone else consisted of only her and Xander at the moment.  Giles was still hard at work in the bedroom, trying to get Freddie to relax.  He'd emerged at one point, as the girls were setting the spell up, but promptly disappeared into the kitchen, giving them only a perfunctory nod when he came back out with two steaming cups of what she assumed was tea.  The decaffeinated kind, she hoped.

So she and Xander waited, their earlier chat returning the comfort to their proximity.  He'd taken it better than she'd expected, and though she wasn't proud of herself for hitting him---I _really_ have to start learning how to control those instincts around my friends, she thought---it had been just the thing to snap her out of her anger, to finish talking to him like a rational adult.  It was probably still weird to him, but given time, Buffy was sure he'd adjust.  He'd gotten used to Spike living in his basement, hadn't he?  And this wasn't nearly as close.

Of course, that required Spike to actually _be there, which meant rescuing him and Willow as promptly as possible.  Hopefully, Giles was making some headway in that area._

Because Anya's ex-friend was driving her batty with her bitchy prattling.  If something didn't break on that front soon, Buffy was going to have to do some breaking herself.  Preferably on Halfrek's smug face.

*************

His frown deepened as the car rolled to a stop.  The shadows drowned the front yard in inky waves, but he could still see the faint lights glimmering from beneath drawn curtains in the cottage, indicating occupants.  Buffy's scent was still strong in the air, so though Spike knew that Clara's directions to Green Dolphin Street had been accurate, why the Slayer would choose to return here when there were countless hotels available in the Big Easy, he had no idea.

"For someone who was so itching to get to his Slayer," the seer said, swivelling to look back at him from the front passenger seat, "you're certainly taking your merry time getting out of the car."

"Yeah."  Glints of gold sparked across Spike's eyes as his nostrils flared, inhaling deeply the early morning aromas.  Unmistakably Buffy, as well as the others, but mixed in with it, echoing of something magical, was definitely something non-human.  Demon.  Only one, but since none of the gang ranked among his kind, its presence could not bode well.

"Wait here," he ordered, when he saw Peter's hand go for the door handle.

"Something wrong?" Clara asked.

"She's got company.  No reason to be draggin' you lot into this if there's goin' to be a fight."  Besides, after having been caged in by Sandrine for so long, a fight was exactly what he was in the mood for.  No way was he going to share in that.

"I think you'd be surprised at how good Peter is when it comes to steppin' up to help."  He shot the seer a frown.  She wasn't letting this go.  "Might not be such a bad idea if you took him with you.  It never hurts to have a back-up."

"Then he can back me up parked out here," Spike countered.  "That way you two have the front covered if something goes wrong."  Not that he thought anything would, but it seemed like as good an excuse as any for him not to tag along.

Her measured gaze told him she wasn't buying it, but after a moment, Clara shrugged.  "She's your Slayer," she said, her surreptitious glance at the large black man at her side not going unnoticed by the vampire.  "You do as you see fit."

Damn straight she's my Slayer, he thought as he slid silently from the vehicle.  Of course, if Buffy actually heard that thought, he was sure she might have a different opinion.  Something about him being her vamp.  

A warm flush slithered down his bare abdomen, disappearing beneath the silk pyjamas to heat his groin as he padded lightly across the grass toward the back of the cottage.  

On second thought, he rather liked that version better.

*************

"Even if I did what you're so rudely accusing me of, what difference does it make?  What's done is done."

"It's not the difference we want to talk about, Hallie.  It's the why.  And the potential of you going back to D'Hoffryn and offering him a deal for us."

When the vengeance demon laughed at the suggestion, Buffy bolted to her feet in irritation, pacing along the far length of the room.  This was getting them nowhere.  Halfrek seemed determined to be as close-mouthed as she possibly could, barely even admitting that she'd had anything to do with Spike in the first place, in spite of Tara's firm reminder that _she had actually seen her there.  They were only _just_ getting around to the whole wanting to speak with D'Hoffryn angle, and Giles _still _hadn't emerged from the bedroom with anything useful._

She needed to hit something.

Now.

Because if she didn't, she was going to explode in frustration.

She was making a third pass by the lanai doors, watching the festivities on the other side of the room out of the corner of her eye, when the first sensation tingled along her skin.  It wasn't enough to make her stop, but Buffy's step faltered slightly as she continued to pace, glancing back at the closed exit with the faintest of frowns worrying her brow.

When she approached on the fourth go, the one tingle turned into a plural, electrifying her nerves so that the hair stood up on the back of the Slayer's neck.  This time, she halted, grey-green eyes staring intently through the glass, seeing instead of the darkened garden, her own reflection gazing hazily back at her.

Only Xander noticed her distraction, darting glances between her and the others before rising to his feet and crossing to her side.  "What's up, Buff?" he asked, sotto voce.

"Vamps," she replied in equally low tones.  Her lips thinned, a gleam overtaking her irises as her hands curled into anticipatory fists at her sides.  Looks like my prayers just got answered, she thought.

Xander's eyes widened.  "You think Iris found us already?" he rushed.  He didn't bother lowering his tone this time, and the sharpness in it caused all other talking in the room to cease behind him.

"Iris is here?" Anya asked, looking at them with alarm.

"_Someone's here," Buffy clarified.  She was trying for soothing, but judging from the way the ex-demon grabbed the nearest weapon, she had a sneaking suspicion she was failing miserably.  "Someone of the vampire persuasion."  With definitive strides, she marched to the open weapons bag near the kitchen.  "Everyone stay in here," she instructed as she tucked a stake into her waistband._

"Don't you want us to b-b-back you up?" Tara asked.

The Slayer shook her head.  As jittery as she was, these trespassers were hers and hers alone.  She needed the slays to iron out her nerves.  "You guys just make sure nobody else gets in.  Get ready to run if I say the word."

"And what's the word going to be?" Anya asked as the Slayer's hand hovered on the door knob.

"Probably me yelling 'run' if I come running back inside," the blonde replied, and slipped out into the night.

*************

The air hummed from the various songs of the nocturnal insects that thrived in the sultry atmosphere, joining with the tingling in the Slayer's skin to create a quivering rhythm that made her flesh resonate.  Her steps were silent as she crept toward the hedge that marked the edge of the garden, mouth set as her gaze swept along its length.  Within the proximity of the approaching threat, she could tell it was actually just one, accompanied by a near-undetectable swish of what sounded like something silken.  

Has to be one of Iris' minions scoping out the back entrance, she thought as she stopped before the wall.  Who else would insist on her employees dressing like some out-of-date glam rock star?

Whoever it was, was nearing, and Buffy's body went into automatic mode, grateful to at last have the opportunity to vent some of the energy that had been building up inside her, in spite of the earlier fracas at the hotel.  With a coiled spring, she leapt the height of the hedge, aiming for the approach, to gracefully collide with the familiar cold form on the other side, sending them both in a heap to the ground, hers landing beneath what was unmistakably a him.

Her elbow lashed out instinctively at the body trapping hers, but was met with a firm grip that twisted her arm to pin it behind her back.  The sharp jerk of her head backwards was reflexive against the pain radiating through her shoulder, but it wasn't until she heard the muttered British curse accompanied by the sudden rush of air along her legs when her captor rose, that she made the connection.

"Spike?" Buffy said, rolling onto her back and onto her feet.  Her eyes widened at the pale echo of his flesh against the dawn-blushed sky, shoulders carved out of the darkness as he rubbed painfully at his nose.  Without another moment of hesitation, she vaulted herself at him, arms outstretched, throwing both of them into the hedge.

Her heart was thumping inside her chest, her rational thoughts scattering to the winds as relief suffused her system.  He was back.  He was safe.  Oh god, he'd managed to escape and he was standing right there and he was…

"Why do you look like you've just escaped from some male harem?" she asked, sliding down the length of his body to look again at the pyjamas that graced his lower half.  The silk left very little to the imagination, clinging and shimmering as it captured the scattered light.  Even the outline of his growing erection was unmistakeable in the dim illumination.

"This would be Sandrine's idea of play wear," he commented.  When Buffy's brows shot up, he chuckled.  "'Course, she didn't really fancy it when I asked her to cease and desist."

Slowly, she relaxed.  "You know, for as much as I hate to say it, I'm going to have to agree with her on this one."  Her mouth curled into a hungry grin as she slipped her fingers inside the edge of the waistband.  "We get to keep these when this is all over, right?"

The growl rumbled from the back of his throat as his fingers dug into her hips.  "You get me my duster back, pet, and I'll even wear Harris' castoffs."

Buffy's jaw dropped.  "She's got your coat?" she exclaimed in mock indignation.  "Well, that just won't do.  I say, let's string her up.  Off with her head."  She smiled.  "Figuratively speaking, of course, because technically, it's still _Willow__'s head and cutting it off might defeat the purpose of getting her back and…"  She threw her arms around him again, squeezing him tightly.  "…I'm __sooo glad you're back."_

"Me, too, luv."  His voice was muffled as Spike buried his lips in her hair.  "Me, too."

She could feel his excitement pressed against her stomach, but in spite of the initial exhilaration that had surged through her veins at the potential fight, it was eclipsed by the joy and relief at seeing him in one piece that now flooded her body.  Having him gone had been excruciating, but it was only having him back that made her realize just how deeply that had cut.  How much of her had felt like it was missing.  God, how could it hurt even more now that he was back?

Her fingers knotted in the stray curls at the base of his neck, pulling far enough away so that she could slide her lips to his.  Hungry, and desperate, her tongue swiped across the lower swell before plunging through the gap as his mouth parted, fighting and tasting and devouring him down as she pressed her body into his.

Spike's response was immediate, hands tightening in his need.  The arousal that had been semi-present at the fight urged itself to the fore with a vengeance, demanding for release as the silk barrier that prevented its escape tortured him along his length.  All thoughts of the threat that had initially brought him to the rear of the cottage vanished from his mind, replaced instead by dancing green eyes and nimble fingers that promised both pleasure and pain, drawing him to the edge of forgetting the world around him as he met her tongue, stroke for ravenous stroke.

"Don't…you…_dare…scare me…like that…again," she panted as he broke apart from the kiss, raining a parade of blunt nibbles along her jaw to the sinewy arc of her neck._

"Oh?" Spike murmured.  "Would you rather be scared like this?"

His teeth sank into the muscle of her shoulder, the explosion of sensations it wreaked down her spine forcing her head back, her nails to rake down the arcs of his blades as the cry was torn from her throat.  

"Bastard," she rasped, the smallest of laughs coloring her cadences, and with a graceful flip, she twisted him around to the ground, now straddling his lean hips as her hands braced herself on either side of his platinum head.

Two sets of eyes glittered as their adrenaline raced, both nearly black with desire as they seemed to hang there in the moment, watching, and waiting, Buffy's breath the only audible sound to either of their ears.  The same realization crashed to both of their attention as they lay there.  The fact that Spike's chip was now gone meant more than questioning his attitude toward killing again.  It meant that he and the Slayer were back to being equals, matched in form as well as in hearts, neither able to claim superiority no matter what the circumstance.

It created a swell of satisfaction in Spike's gut.  Equals.  Never had that before.  Not as a human.  Not even with Dru, not with the whole sire thing, and then her being completely nutters.  Leave it to Buffy to surprise him yet again.

The corresponding sense of right that rose in the Slayer's breast was surprising, though.  She'd missed this.  Fighting with Spike had been a vicarious tango that had crisped her moves, forced her to push mind and body to their limits until she was better than when she started.  Knowing that he could now return her to that precipice was thrilling, to say the least.

Unfortunately, it also reminded her of just why she'd come outside in the first place.

He seemed to sense her shift in mood, and his lips curled into a smirk.  "Don't get used to this position," he warned.  "Not when I can fight back now."

The tone of his voice was teasing, but there was no mistaking the hint of worry that fluttered behind his eyes.  It was then that Buffy realized…though she had supported him back at the hotel, he knew they had yet to really talk about what the ramifications of his returned state would mean, and she reached forward to feather her fingertips across the line of his brow in what she hoped was a soothing manner.  "I told everyone," she said softly.  "Giles…Anya…Xander.  Surprisingly enough, their heads didn't combust."

Spike's hand reached up to catch hers and he turned his head to press a kiss into her palm.  "Never asked you to lie for me, pet.  I don't want you to think you have to."

"I know.  I didn't do it for you.  I did it for us."  Slowly, she peeled herself away from his hips, rising to her feet and pulling him up with her.  "It's not like you weren't going to tell me.  You kept trying.  I can see that now.  We just kept getting interrupted."

"And you're not…fussed 'bout that?" 

The bend of his body was still wary, and Buffy shook her head as she pulled him against her again.  "Just don't turn it into a habit," she said.  "That's a bad one.  The…keeping stuff away from each other part of it, I mean.  If you have something to say, don't hold it back.  I've had enough of guys trying to tell me what they think I need to hear.  No more whitewashing for this gal.  Just like I swear not to hold back with you."  She laughed.  "And that's enough Oprah for this hour, methinks.  Time to get back to some good old-fashioned apocalypse averting."

"Please tell me you managed to nick my clothes when you went scampering off from the hotel," Spike said as followed her over the hedge.  "Not that I've got a problem showin' the wares to Rupes and the boy, but I think it might make Tara just a mite uncomfortable."

"She's a lesbian…remember?" she joked back.  "But, yeah, we've got all your stuff.  We'll just have to sneak into the bedroom to get it."  She stopped when she noticed he'd halted behind her, turning to see him staring intently at the patio doors, nostrils flaring.  "What's up?" she asked.

"Tell me you _know_ there's a demon in there," he said, his voice gruff.  Stupid of him to forget that's why he'd come out alone in the first place.

"Oh, yeah," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.  "That's just Halfrek.  One of Anya's ex vengeance buddies.  Turns out she's the one who took the chip out of your head.  Tara and Anya figured it out."

"And you've got her in there because…?"

"…we thought we could use her to get to D'Hoffryn."

He nodded as if he could've really expected nothing less.  "Something tells me we're goin' to have some blanks to be fillin' in for each other here, luv."

His question reminded her of her earlier doubts.  "Yeah," she agreed.  "Like…how in hell did you ever figure out I was back here?"

Spike smirked as he ambled to her side.  "Those two particular blanks happen to be parked out front."

"So…Iris and Sandrine aren't nipping at your heels?"

A shake of his head.  "And there's no imminent danger inside?" he queried, his gaze dropping to her mouth.

Her turn to say no.  "And you know…"  Somewhere along the line of their questioning, Buffy's voice had grown husky, her desire for him returning to burn even higher.  "…those pants don't so much _show_ your wares, as they do put out a full page ad.  We should probably…wait before going in."

"Or do something about it," Spike muttered.  The last of his words was silenced by the crushing of his mouth to hers, his arms scooping her about the waist and carrying her to the shadows of a nearby willow tree.

"Off, off," Buffy gasped as she pushed at her shorts.  The bark of the tree scraped against her back from the force he was pinning her there, and she found herself holding her breath as dexterous fingers pulled the article of clothing away, baring her skin to the pre-dawn air for only a fraction of a second before being covered again by his insistent hips, his lips once again attacking hers.

He had freed himself at the same time, and it only took a small shift of the Slayer's hips to feel his hard length.  She gulped for air as his mouth left hers, travelling along her cheek to capture her lobe between his teeth, biting and nipping as a sympathetic rumble vibrated from his chest into hers.  Buffy's fingers clawed at his back, and though somewhere in the back of her head, she knew that was she was doing was going to leave marks, marks that the others would undoubtedly see when they finally went inside, she didn't care.  All that mattered was him.  And getting him inside her.  Now, now, now, her inner voice chanted like a greedy child.  Want him _now._

He seemed to be reading her thoughts.  Without breaking his tempo at her ear, Spike pulled his hips just far enough away to direct himself to her entrance, holding her still for the moments---long, excruciating, wonderful moments, she decided---it took to impale her on his length.

She was the one to begin the rhythm, lifting her body just enough to encourage him to start pumping in and out of her.  "God…Spike…" she murmured into his neck, tasting the cool satin of his flesh as it prickled against her tongue.  Everything seemed so much easier when he was there, like the answers that insisted on vanishing with the advancing light suddenly decided to stick around, provide her grounding upon which to stand.  "Love you…so much…"

Though his thrusts became harder, his mouth softened, leaving the hollow of her neck where he had been sucking to lick across the tender spot just below her ear.  "Love you, too, Buffy," he replied, his voice a whisper across her soul.  "Always."

It was all she needed to drive herself over the edge, muffling her cry by burying her mouth against his skin, her skin and limbs and insides and outsides detonating in syncopation with the ripples that shuddered her muscles.  Spike came almost immediately after, as if he'd been waiting for her release before allowing his own, and he held her tight against him, forehead pressed to hers, lashes dark against his pale skin.

"It's good to be home," he said softly as their bodies quietened.

She could only nod in silent agreement.

*************

Her foot was tapping impatiently within the confines of her bindings, her carefully manicured nails drumming silently along her upper arms, as Halfrek waited with the others for the Slayer to return.  Not that she was worried about what might happen; the Slayer had said it was only vampires outside.  As a fellow demon, she really had nothing to worry about, since it was most likely the humans they were after.

But when the doors opened, and she saw the familiar platinum head walk in at Buffy's side, his fingers entwined with hers, the conspicuous scent of sex clinging to their exposed skin, all motion in her body came to a stop, her hope in the situation plummeting.  Nothing showed on Halfrek's face, though, not even when Spike turned his head to look at her, and she lifted her chin higher when she saw his eyes narrow in speculation.

"Geez, Spike," exclaimed Xander as everyone else exhaled in relief.  Though it was obvious the humans noticed the new closeness between the two blonds, it was just as apparent to Hallie that they had no clue about the more intimate aspect of their relations that had just occurred.  "Way to go for wigging us out here.  Care to share why you didn't bother, oh, I don't know…using the front door and _knocking_?"

"Sensed you lot weren't alone in here," he said vaguely, and released Buffy's hand to step toward the confines in which they held the vengeance demon.  When he came to a stop before her, she could've sworn time slowed down as he tilted his head, his sapphire gaze glittering as it languorously swept up and down her body.

His lips pursed in his examination.  "So…." Spike drawled.  "I hear tell you're the one I'm s'posed to be thanking for my little chipendectomy."

She didn't say a word, only watched as Buffy came up to stand beside him.

"So this is our Cecily wannabe?" she asked unnecessarily.

Spike nodded.  "No wonder she was able to pull off the masquerade so well," he commented.  "She's got bitch written all over her."  

Buffy giggled at the joke, and turned away, no longer interested in his evaluation of his so-called savior, issuing instructions to the others that for some unknown reason included retrieving a pair of mysterious persons from a car out in the front.  

I _told D'Hoffryn this wasn't going to work, she thought.  His plan had rested on the premise that Buffy would want to __kill Spike.  He hadn't accounted for the fact that she was going to fall in love with him.  What choice did Hallie have now but to try and do what the stupid Slayer wanted?_

The room was quieted when Anya held up her hands.  "Not to be the voice of doom and gloom here," she said.  "But I've got a funny question to ask.  Not that I'm not glad we don't have to go on some suicide search and rescue for Spike, but…if Sandrine got as angry as she did when you guys got me and Freddie away from her, how pissed do you think she's going to get when she finds out that you've done it to her…_again?"_

*************

If Willow could've paced, she would've.  But, hello.  No control over her feet.  She'd wasted what little bit of control she'd actually had to get Sandrine roused enough to allow Spike to escape.  And even that had been a close one.

So when the other presence woke from the slumber that had kept her to the bed the remainder of the night, Willow was practically giddy from nervousness, waiting---and really, really hoping it wouldn't be as bad as last time---to see what the mambo's reaction was going to be.

For a long minute, Sandrine stared at the empty wall opposite her before allowing her gaze to trail to the just as empty entrance.  "Huh," she finally said out loud, only the mildest of surprises in her voice.  "That sure happened a heck of a lot sooner than I thought it would."  Her lower lip jutted out in a pout.  "And that bitch Slayer didn't even bother to stick around here long enough for me to pretend to put up a fight."

Relief that she hadn't been found out, that Sandrine automatically assumed Buffy was the responsible party for the rescue, surged through Willow's consciousness, bathing her nerves with temporary succour.  _OK.  Everything's A-OK.  Spike got away, Sandrine thinks Buffy is the one who got him out, which means she doesn't know I'm here, and…_

Just as quickly, her distress returned.

_Wait._

_Did she say _pretend_ to put up a fight?_

_Holy moley, what did I miss?_

She watched in growing horror as Sandrine picked up the duster that was tucked underneath the bed, slim fingers gliding lovingly over the softened lapels.  "Hello, baby," she crooned.  "You're going to take me right to them…aren't you?"

To be continued in Chapter 37:  Now's the Time…


	37. Now's the Time

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.  And the chapter titles are courtesy of Miles Davis.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Spike is back with both news from Willow, and Clara and Peter in tow; Halfrek has been caught, and Buffy is itching to make a move…

*************

One foot in the living room, the other in the hall, Buffy's gaze swivelled between the assemblage and babble before her and the distant rush of running water filtering from the closed door behind her.  Eight people were now congregated in the living room---well, seven people and a magically bound vengeance demon---waiting for Spike to finish showering so that information could be shared.  Once Clara had confirmed for the group that the threat of Sandrine could wait the time it would take the vampire to change and clean up, he'd been off to the bedroom like a shot, not even bothering to knock as he barged in and grabbed his things.

A bewildered Giles had wandered out after him, but the definitive click on the bathroom door had turned his head to his charge for answers.

"Surprise!" she'd said with a smile, and then nodded to the other new arrivals.  "And he even came back bearing gifts."

So, now they were waiting for Spike to finish up.  Anya and Tara were wrapping up the details of what they wanted Halfrek to relay to D'Hoffryn, Giles was sitting in quiet discussion with Clara on the couch, while Freddie, Peter, and Xander were sitting in the middle of the floor, whittling some new stakes.  Her presence wasn't really required here, Buffy decided, and stepped silently backward toward the bathroom.

The steam rolled in waves through the crack she allowed herself to enter, but as the door clicked shut behind her, Spike's muttered, "Bloody hell," echoed through the room.

"Realize it's a bit too Brady Bunch these days with the lone bathroom," he sniped through the shower curtain.  "But can't a bloke get five minutes of peace?  Doesn't seem that washing's such a---."

"It's just me, Spike," she said with a small smile.

Immediately, his platinum head poked around the edge.  "Buffy," he noted with surprise. "You should've said straight away it was you."  His eyes gleamed as a pale hand held the curtain back.  "Well, off with your kit then.  No tellin' how long we've got and I'd rather fancy another taste of that delectable neck of yours before havin' to listen to Rupert natter on about wishing to be blind again."

Her smile widened, but she didn't move.  "Oh, because both of us walking out of here soaking wet wouldn't look obvious at all."

"Thought it didn't matter any more, luv.  Thought you squared everything away with the others."  Spike's voice had dropped, husky and seductive, and she felt her thighs begin to tingle as he lowered his head to look at her through his lashes, his tongue curling against the inside of his teeth.  "Don't tell me you wouldn't love to get in here.  I'm not the only one who's been fighting tonight.  I can practically _taste the sweat on you all the way over here."_

"Nice try, but I'm fine."

"Oh?  You remember what this shower feels like.  All that pressure and whatnot.  You sure you don't want one more bite of its hot, pounding sensations on your back?  Get the kinks out, it will.  Loosen you right up."

Her skin was prickling from the heat, and she felt the itch of a line of sweat begin to snake down the back of her neck.  His words were making her mouth water, but reason was still winning inside Buffy's head.  "As tempting as the offer is, something tells me we won't be washing if I get in there."

He pretended to pout.  "Not sure I like this hard to play act, pet.  Puts a crimp in my seduction here."  The glint in his eyes returned.  "'Course, if you want me to come out there and get you, that might be fun, too."

Her mouth opened to say he didn't dare, but closed right away with an audible click when she hastily realized he would.  What was she arguing for anyway?  There wasn't anything happening out in the living room that necessitated her presence, and it wasn't like their relationship was exactly a secret any more.  And a shower _did_ sound nice…

"You have to be quiet," she warned with a pointed finger.  "We've got enough explaining about what's been happening with everything when we get out of here.  I don't want to have to add why you scream in the shower to the list."

"Think it would be more like why _you scream in the shower, pet."_

"Spike…"

"Let me scrub your back?"

"Of course."

"Then, mum's the word."

Quickly, she stripped off her clothes, feeling his eyes on her like a velvet stroke before slipping in at the opposite end of the tub.  Spike was on her like a shot, pulling the sponge from her hand and sliding around so that she stood directly in the spray.  

Almost immediately, the tension began melting away from her body as Buffy tilted her head back to allow the shattering droplets to pelt her skin.  The sigh that escaped her lips when Spike pressed himself against her, reaching around to run the sponge over the pebbled tips of her nipples, was almost a moan.

"Told you, you'd love it," he murmured into her ear.

"Remind to sleep some time next week," she said, using his chest as a brace as she closed her eyes.

"You should get a spot of rest once we get the tales out of the way," he replied.  The sponge slid between her breasts, gliding in circular motions across her stomach, daringly skirting the edge of her pubic bone with the vague potential of more.  "Red said Sandrine's schedule wasn't goin' to start hoppin' until tonight."

It was the mention of her friend that drove her lids back up.  "Wait."  Adrenaline straightened her limbs, and she turned around to face the vampire.  "What's this about Willow?"

"That's part of one of the blanks I was goin' to fill in.  She's the reason I was able to get away.  Somewhere behind that bitch Sandrine, Red's still ticking."  His lips quirked into a smile.  "Figure you and Tara would be pleased as punch at that little tidbit."

"And you're only _now telling me this?"  _

Her volume was rising, bringing a frown to Spike's face.  "I believe it's the first chance I've had, luv.  If memory serves, I've spent the rest of my time gettin' jumped, sorting us out, and…oh yeah.  Gettin' jumped."

Buffy blushed, though part of her heightening color was surely attributable to the scalding water.  "Right, right," she said, shaking her head.  "It's just…been a long night."

His fingers pushed back the tendrils of her hair that had yet to find water, soaking them beneath the spray while he gently massaged her scalp.  "This'll wait then," he said softly.  

She could feel the promise of his chest just a whisper away as she let her eyes drift closed again, savoring the firm caress of his touch as he washed her hair.  Spike was still aroused, but the fact that he was choosing to ignore it in light of her more pressing needs only reminded her yet again of just how far he had come.

"…get our plans in order," he was saying.  "And then you and me are goin' to curl up in that bed---."

"We can't."

His hands paused.  "You need to sleep, Buffy.  Don't think I'm lettin' you face off with Sandrine tonight without bein' up to scratch."

"No, I just meant we can't use the bed.  Well, _I_ can't use the bed."  She cracked an eye to look up at him.  "Girls in the living room, guys in the bedroom.  Those are the sleeping arrangements."

"Bugger," Spike muttered.  "Whose brilliant idea was that?"

"Actually, mine.  That was before you pulled your great escape, though."  His hands started up again, slower this time, spreading through her locks to loosen the shampoo, sending it spiralling down the drain as she sighed in satisfaction.  "How about I make it up to you as soon as we get Willow back, get her away from Iris before anyone can summon Sira, get the voix mortelle back to D'Hoffryn, and sleep for a month of Sundays?"

Spike snickered.  "Think maybe we'll be makin' it up to each other, luv."  The taste of his lips against hers took her by surprise, and she smiled beneath his kiss, easing against him as his arms circled her back.  

"Maybe we shouldn't wait," she murmured when he pulled away.  "This might be our last alone time for awhile."

"Maybe," he agreed, and swooped back in for another kiss.

*************

"Now.  Let me get this straight."  Giles' gaze was penetrating as he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees to meet Spike's eyes more directly, ignoring both the way Buffy was resting against the vampire's side where they sat on the piano bench and the vampire's absentminded stroking of her bare arm.  "Willow has control of Sandrine when she's just waking, and told you when she was releasing you from the spell that we can bring her back by summoning the djab Stella and Freddie serve.  The one who brought forth Sandrine in the first place."

"That's what she said."

"And Sandrine is summoning Sira tonight."

"She said that too."

"That means she's got the other half of the voix mortelle already," Anya said.  Seated between Xander and Tara on the couch, she didn't flinch when all eyes turned to look at her.  "At least that's D'Hoffryn's interest secured.  There's no way he won't show up now."

"But she's gotta be wrong," Freddie protested from his place on the floor.  "It took two of us to get Sandrine here.  It's goin' to take two of us to make her go back."

"Can't one of us help you?" asked Tara.

"When was the last time you performed a vodou ritual?" he posited sarcastically.  Her embarrassed flush was the only answer he needed.  "So, I'll say it again.  We're not---."

"I'll help you."  Clara rose from the dining room table and walked over to the group, leaving Peter to stand cross-armed against the wall.  She waved a hand of dismissal at the group.  "Oh, stop looking at me like that.  Like I'd walk away from you bunch after everything else I've done.  If I didn't want to do what I can, I would've just given Spike the cab fare and told him where he could find Buffy instead of giving him the guided tour myself."

Freddie's shoulders slumped, his head dropping.  "We are goin' to be cutting it real close, you know that, don't you?"  His breathing was becoming audible, quickening and rasping.  "We can only summon the djab after sunset, and Sandrine's plan is happening at the same time, and---."  His words cut off when Giles settled his hand on the young man's shoulder.

"Relax, Freddie," the Watcher murmured.  "Remember what I taught you."

As everyone watched, the young man closed his eyes, entwining his fingers in front of him as he struggled to regain his control.  Slowly, his breaths evened out, disappearing into the still of the room.  When he lifted his head again, his eyes were clear, and he turned to look at the Englishman.  "Thanks," he said quietly.

"So, that's that, then," Buffy said.  "We get out to the swamps as close to sunset as we can manage, do the switcheroo before Sandrine can do the summoning, and voila!  Problem solved."

"Don't you think we should get Willow away from Iris _before we switch them back?" Tara asked.  "I mean, if we do it after, won't Iris kill her when she realizes what's happened?"_

"We just have to do it fast then," the Slayer said firmly.  "With two teams.  You and Spike will guard Freddie and Clara to make sure their end goes off without a hitch, and the rest of us will camp out where Sandrine is so that we're ready to grab Willow when it's done."

"What about D'Hoffryn?"

She shrugged.  "Until he pokes his nose and says he's in, I'm not counting on any extra bodies to be in the fight, even though it would be nice.  We'll figure out what to do about him after."  She looked around the group.  "So.  Are we settled then?"

"Not quite," said Clara.  "One thing Spike said doesn't make sense to me."  Her gaze settled on the vampire.  "You said Sandrine told you she was going to use you to sacrifice to Sira, is that right?"

"I believe I got dubbed 'the lucky one,'" he agreed with a nod.

"Now, I don't know much about this serpent demon she's calling forth, well, except for the part about it being just this shy of the devil himself, but since when can ritual sacrifices be done with dead creatures?"  She offered him a small smile.  "No offense, of course."

Spike shrugged.  "None taken."

Everyone was silent, looking around at each other before turning back to look at Clara again.  "What is it you're saying?" Buffy asked warily.

"What I'm saying, is that these kinds of rituals require the giving of life.  The shedding of pure blood.  Most rituals that _I know about, that is.  And as much as I like him, Spike's not really either of things, now is he?  All I'm wondering is…why would Sandrine claim to be willing to use him that way if it's just not possible?"_

Her mouth was opening to answer, ready to say, "Maybe it's a ritual you don't know about then," but the Slayer was interrupted.  The sudden burst of flames that engulfed the lanai doors made Anya shriek on the couch, jumping to her feet to put it between her and the entrance, the rest of the gang scrambling erect just moments afterward.

All eyes locked on the bonfire that licked up the white frames, and Buffy took a bold step forward when she saw Sandrine, draped in Spike's duster, step through it unharmed.  "Insurance companies must really hate you," she quipped, folding her arms over her small breasts.  "Although I have to say, the fire thing is getting kind of old."

The redhead smiled, her eyes flickering over the group, searching their necks before coming back empty to the Slayer.  "I don't see your little trinkets hanging around," she commented.  "Pity.  That might've actually made this a little interesting."

"That's my coat, you bitch," Spike growled.

"What's the saying?  Oh yeah.  Finders keepers."

When Sandrine laughed, Buffy felt the vampire press forward in an angry snarl, and held up a warning hand to keep him back.  "Now's _really_ not the time for that, Spike."  Her eyes remained trained on the mambo.  Dawn was already outside, so she knew there would be no vampire back-up for Sandrine this time. It didn't mean she was any less dangerous, though.  "What do you want?" she asked.

Sandrine lit up.  "Oh!  I know this one."  Her face split into a huge, beauty queen fake smile.  "I want world peace, except, you know…"  It vanished just as quickly as it appeared.  "…_not."_

"Fine.  Then I say we end this, right here, right now, because I'm kind of partial to the peace-having myself."  Buffy's muscles tensed to spring, but before she could move, the mambo's finger came up, shooting an arrow of fire straight at her feet.

"I suggest you back off," Sandrine gritted through her teeth.  "Or the next one of these goes right through Spike's heart."  When the Slayer froze, the redhead chuckled, a chilling, lifeless sound.  "God, you're just as whipped as he is.  Can you _be _any more predictable?  Goody for me, of course, but not so goody for you."  She took a lazy step forward, ignoring the flames that continued to burn behind her.  "Tell me how you did it, though.  Was it your little protection charm?  Is that how you got rid of my spell?"

"Did what?"

"Rescued Spike, you ninny.  I have to give you credit, though.  You did it a heck of a lot faster than I thought you would."  Her gaze fell on Clara.  "That must be your influence."  She held out her hand to the black woman as if in greeting, plastering a fake smile across her face.  "Hi.  We haven't met.  I'm Sandrine."  After seconds ticked by with no response from Clara, the redhead dropped her hand and shrugged.  "Suit yourself.  I just thought it was polite to introduce myself, seeing as how I'm going to be the one in charge of this town when this is all over.  Somehow, I don't think you have enough gris gris to go around for everyone."

It was then that Buffy realized Spike had been right.  Sandrine had no clue as to Willow's presence inside her.  She believed the Slayer was behind the escape which meant that they still had a shot at getting this done.  It was just important to make sure that that knowledge stayed theirs for now.  "It was a set-up," she said out loud.  "That's why you took Spike."

Sandrine turned back to face her.  "I only took Spike because you wouldn't let me have Freddie, so really, anything that happens now is _your_ fault, Buffy.  I knew Spike wasn't going to cooperate.  You think I couldn't see how head over heels he was for you?  So I hid out where you'd have least resistance to get him back, and kept his clothes so that I could do a location spell afterward.  Whither he goest, you goest too, and whither _you_ were…"  This time, her gaze slid to Freddie, who was visibly trying to control his fear but failing miserably as his hands shook violently before him.  "Little Miss Bodyguard wouldn't let him out of her sight for a second, I knew, not after working so hard to get him away.  And I figured Giles would do something to block the garde from working again.  Gotta say, I _love _having access to little Willow's memories.  It makes figuring out what you guys are going to do a whole lot easier."

Freddie.  This was all about Freddie.  

Buffy's mind raced.  Sandrine needed someone for her sacrifice to Sira, but they needed Freddie in order to get Willow back.  No matter what happened, she couldn't let him get into her clutches.

"You can't protect him now," the redhead was saying, her hands lifting.  "So, if you don't mind---."

"Actually, I do," Buffy interrupted.  "I told you before.  You can't have him."

"Quit with the stalling already.  Nothing you say is gonna stop me."

"How about, you can take me instead?"  A round of "What?" and "Buffy!" and a lone "Bloody hell!" echoed behind her, but the Slayer remained stalwart, staring down the woman opposite as her offer hung in the air between them.  She could do this.  She would be safe because they'd bring Willow back, and then Buffy would be in close enough proximity to get her best friend away from Iris safely.  It seemed like the perfect plan.  Too bad she couldn't actually share it with any of the rest of the group without giving it away to the bad guy.  Or, bad girl, as the case may be.

Slowly, Sandrine smiled, turning away from Freddie.  "Let's see if I have this straight," she said.  "You're willing to trade places with that worthless pile of testosterone there, I get to make my sacrifice to Sira except with a Slayer-sized package, _and I get rid of you at the same time?"_

"That's what it sounds like."

"What's the catch?"

"No catch.  An even trade.  I'm not letting you kill an innocent human being.  Not again."

Sandrine laughed.  "Trust me.  He's not so innocent."

"I don't care."  She wasn't going to give in to the false sense of gaiety the mambo was presenting, her face remaining closed and firm.  "That's the deal.  Take it or leave it."

"Have you gone completely daft, you silly bint?"

She could hear the anger in his voice, overlying the pain, but paying attention to it now was going to wreck her concentration.  Buffy took a step closer to Sandrine.  "What's it going to be?" she asked.

"Gotta say I love that big old hero complex you've got." The redhead raised her hands.  "I guess I'm taking it."  And in a flash of light, she and the Slayer were gone.

It only took seconds before chaos broke out among the group, Xander and Giles rushing forward to tamp out the fire while the girls scurried to the kitchen for water.  With a violent roar, Spike sprang away from the flames, his arm swinging wildly until it connected with the wall, plaster showering down around his wrist in a fine mist from the impact.  He punched it again, and again, curses streaming under his breath, until Peter's firm hand came down on his shoulder.

Clara was right there at his side.  "Now, did that poor wall ever do anything to _you_?" she teased.

He glared at her, tears springing from nowhere as the realization that Buffy was actually gone sunk in.  "Sod off," he rasped, but the black man's grip tightened when he tried to move away.

"She made a choice," the seer said.  "Maybe you're not seein' the whole picture right now, bein' so close to it and all, but what your Slayer did, she did with understanding.  Weeping for her isn't going to change that."

Blinking rapidly to stop the tears from actually falling, Spike turned away from her, fists aching for more release in spite of the blood that already dripped from his knuckles.  Everything was finally right again.  No more misunderstandings between him and Buffy.  Everything out in the open.  A plan to get order back into their world.  

Why did she have to go and bugger that up by offering her bloody trade?

"She trusted you," Clara said quietly.  "Since when don't you trust her back?"

And it was then that her earlier words clicked for him.  _Big picture.  Freddie.  Willow.  All of it.  _

Lifting his chin, Spike squared his jaw, marching determinedly over to the weapons bag.  As the fire at the porch doors abated, the members of the gang one by one turned to look at him stuffing the stakes that had been whittled earlier into the sack.

"What're you doing?" Xander asked.

"You heard the Slayer," the vampire said, no hesitation in his work.  "Two teams.  I'll guard the vodou lot."

"B-b-but…what about the other team?"  Tara's brows were knitted in confusion.  "That was supposed to be Buffy."

"Still is."  Spike straightened, hefting the bag over his shoulder to carry to the door in wait for their departure.  The tears were gone, the blue bright and clear as they met with Giles'.  "She's just working from the inside now."

To be continued in Chapter 38: Miles Runs the Voodoo Down…


	38. Miles Runs the Voodoo Down

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.  And the chapter titles are courtesy of Miles Davis.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Buffy has disappeared with Sandrine as an exchange for Freddie, after the witch showed up at the cottage looking for her sacrifice to Sira…

*************

"You're a fool."  Though Iris and Sandrine stood facing each other, both ramrod straight, even from her vantage point across the living room Buffy could feel the barely repressed anger coiling throughout the vampire's body as she bit the words out, her own senses springing to a rapid alert even behind the barrier that prevented her escape.  

"And I'm beginning to get a little tired of a certain someone's lack of so-called faith," Sandrine replied in tones equally cold.

A scarlet-tipped finger pointed at the corner.  "You brought the _Slayer to my home.  Do you have any idea how incredibly _stupid_ that makes you?"_

The redhead's eyes flashed.  "You vampires are all the same," she spat.  "You lack vision."

"I can see perfectly fine that you're going to be the death of us all, witch."

"You're already dead, dummy."

"And so will you be if you don't get her out of here!"

Their voices were rising, their tempers flaring just as high, but neither woman moved even a fraction of an inch from where they stood.  Buffy rolled her eyes.  This little show had been going on ever since she and Sandrine had materialized at the apartment she'd rescued Anya and Freddie from to see a minion about to go down on a half-naked Iris, and though the Slayer had been caged in the corner almost instantaneously, the vitriol that had erupted from the blonde vampire's mouth had been just as immediate, kicking the other vamp to the side in her haste to argue with the mambo.  

He'd been the lucky one, scampering out the door and away from the fracas, leaving Buffy to stay and watch the fight that ensued.  Frankly, it was getting old, and though seeing them at odds meant bonus points for the good guys' side, she would've much preferred not having a front row seat.

"It's just a matter of a few hours," Sandrine was saying.  "If you can manage to keep your fangs to yourself until sunset, you'll see that this is the best plan all around."

"There is no such thing as a best plan if a Slayer's involved," Iris argued.  "Using her as the sacrifice isn't going to solve your problem.  Kill her, and another one will just get called, and that one will come after you, and the one after that, and the one after that until you are good and dead and mostly not buried because they'll cut you up into lots of little pieces."

"Won't happen."

"So maybe you'll get lucky and she'll just cut off your head.  The end result will be the same.  You're going to be dead and all of our work will be for nothing."

For the first time, Sandrine seemed to relax in the vampire's presence, taking a step back to expose the line of sight between the two blondes in the room.  "You want to tell her, Buffy?" the redhead asked lightly.  "Or do I get to be the bearer of good news?"  She waited for a response, but when the Slayer remained silent, her brows lifted.  "No?  Spoilsport."  Back to Iris.  "Wanna know another of the benefits of me having little Willow's memories?" she queried.  "I know that the Slayer line doesn't go through Buffy anymore.  I kill her, and absolutely nothing will happen."

The vampire frowned.  "That's not possible.  One dies, another pops up just like some annoying, goody-goody Kleenex.  That's the way it goes.  "

"Yessiree, bob, you're right there."  Sandrine was almost bouncing in her glee.  "Except Buffy's already died before, so the line went on to Kendra, who bit the big one from Drusilla---literally, I might add---and then to Faith.  And _that _Slayer happens to be locked away, all nice and cozy and safe from imminent death.  Twenty-five years to life, I believe."

Understanding smoothed the lines from Iris' brow, the corner of her mouth canting in a bloody slash.  "I'd heard rumors…"  For the first time, she acknowledged the Slayer's presence in the room, eyes bright in both delight and reluctant admiration.  "So you really did come back from the dead?" she asked Buffy.

She folded her arms across her chest and lifted her chin.  "Looking a lot better than you, I might add," she said, confirming the vampire's query.

Some of the shine faded, her mouth hardening.  "So, this one dies…"

"…and you get a few decades of Slayer-free goodness and I still get my snakey summoned," Sandrine finished triumphantly.  She flopped down onto the couch, feigning exhaustion.  "Now, do be a good vamp and go do your sleeping by day thing.  I need time to rest up for tonight."  She did a flicking motion with her fingers as her eyes drifted shut.  "I said, shoo."

Buffy watched as the demon opened her mouth to say something, and then closed it again with an audible click, pivoting on her heel and storming from the room.  "You really _are bossy, aren't you," she observed dryly once it was just the two of them._

"Don't really need to hear any comments from the peanut gallery right now," Sandrine said from the couch, not even opening her eyes.  Exhaustion weighed her body into the cushions, her shoulders slumped for the first time since returning from the cottage.

"Or what?  You'll kill me?"  She laughed.  "Would kind of defeat the purpose of saving me for snake bait tonight, wouldn't it?"  

"Nothing says I can't hand you over to him with a gag as this month's favorite fashion accessory."

Buffy pretended to pout.  "Spike gets silk pyjamas and I get a gag?  Where's the justice in that?"  She heard Sandrine muttering, but the specific words escaped her.  Oh, good, she thought.  It's working.  She had no intention in trying to escape until they reached the swamp, but that didn't mean she couldn't try and rattle the mambo's cage a little before they got there.  Anything to gain a little bit of an advantage.

"I forgot to thank you for those, by the way," she went on cheerily.  "Normally, Spike's all commando guy, but seeing him in your little seduction get-up?  Yum with a capital Y.  They're going to get tons of use when we get back to Sunnydale."

She could see the mambo shake her head, though she still didn't turn to look back at Buffy.  "I've changed my mind," Sandrine said.  "You and Spike are perfect for each other.  Neither one of you knows when to shut up."

"Aw, c'mon.  You were all about the banter back at the cottage.  Don't tell me going toe-to-toe with Iris sapped your quipping power.  Not that she's much of a challenge, especially when the whole part about being sexually frustrated is factored in.  But can I just tell you…popping us in without knocking first?"  She shook her head, grimacing.  "_So_ not the image I wanted to be carrying around inside my head today."

There was a snort of derision.  "Please.  Iris is a joke.  Once Sira grants me my power, I'll get rid of her.  Stupid vampire," she muttered as an afterthought.

"A stupid vampire with surveillance and cameras all over the place," Buffy said brightly.  She was having far too much fun goading the redhead, her confidence in the plans she and her friend had laid out---even if she didn't get the opportunity to tell them about her adjusted role in them---bolstering her desire to shake the other woman's assurance.  Sandrine had already made it clear she wasn't going to harm the Slayer; apparently, Sira liked his sacrifices in pristine condition.  And after feeling so ineffectual for so long, Buffy was ready to take her frustrations out on anyone who got in her way.

On the couch, Sandrine sat up, frowning as her eyes scanned the room for the recording devices Buffy had alluded to.  Quickly, though, she scowled, shooting the blonde a dirty look.  "It won't work, you know," she said.  "You're pretty much toast any way this happens."

"If you say so."  Bright, perky.  Buffy at her most annoying.

"I do.  I do say so."

"Sure.  Whatever."

"Stop that!"

"Stop what?"  OK, lather on the faux innocence and the annoyance factor went up by a power of ten.  Gotta remember that for future reference, the Slayer thought amusedly.

She watched as Sandrine growled in frustration, rising to her feet and stomping from the room without giving her prisoner another glance.  OK, that worked _too well, she thought, her cheerful façade immediately dropping.  The goal had been just to keep her on edge, not to actually push her over it.  And now Buffy was forced to do the one thing she hated more than anything else. _

Now, she had to wait.

*************

With the steering wheel as a drumpad, his thumbs tapped out a beat only heard in his head as Spike's eyes darted to the slit in the black paint to peer out at Clara's shop.  She was taking her sweet time with it, he thought irritably.  What happened to only needing a few things to help Freddie?

"Please tell me that blood you had for lunch wasn't laced with caffeine," Giles commented dryly from the passenger seat.  "You haven't stopped fidgeting since she got out of the car."

"Just want to get a move on," Spike replied.  "It's goin' to take a bit to get out to Sira Sommeil and we want to be ready to move on bringing Red back as soon as the sun hits the horizon."  His gaze flickered to the rearview mirror, catching Freddie's eye in the back.  "That's what you said, right?  Can't start the shindig until after sunset?"

"That's right," the young man agreed.

"So just thinkin' about time here, Rupert," Spike finished, leveling his gaze at the Watcher.  "I'm not willing to let Buffy be at the hands of Sandrine any longer than she has to be.  The sooner we---."

"Yes, yes, I get it."  He cut him off with a wave of his hand, and frowned behind his glasses.  "My apologies if I'm not completely…adjusted to your deference to doing the good thing here," he said sardonically.  "Buffy may have had time to adapt, but I'm afraid you're going to have to grant the rest of us a period of reprieve in order to better habituate ourselves to your new…situation."

Blue eyes bored into blue, and the muscles twitched in Spike's cheek.  After a long minute, he said, "You obviously got something to say to me, so I suggest you just spit it out.  Is it me and Buffy?  Is that what's got your knickers in such a twist?"

Giles' face remained impassive.  "Buffy's an adult.  She's capable of choosing who she wishes to…spend time with."

Spike snorted.  "Don't see what you're bein' all delicate for," he commented.  "This is me, remember?  I've been in your house.  I've seen your unmentionables.  You don't have to pussyfoot around your words with me.  I'm not one of your precious protégés you're afraid to sully with a little exposure to Ripper."

The Watcher cast a look at the back seat.  "I hardly think this is the time or place for this type of discussion, Spike."

Freddie immediately slid forward to lean over the back of the front seat.  "You want me to give you two a little privacy?" he offered.  "I can always run for beignets or lattes or something---."

"No."  

Their synchronous denials sent the young man scuttling back into his corner, and he turned his head away from the pair of frowns to stare ineffectually out the blacked out window.

"Whatever you need to say," Spike said, returning to face the man next to him, "you can do it in front of the lad.  It's not like he's goin' back with us to Sunnyhell.  No need for you to worry about bad impressions or whatnot."

As his hands tightened around the crossbow that rested in his lap, Giles appraised the vampire in a cool sweep, noting the tennis shoes that now graced his feet instead of his customary boots, the lack of the duster that beaconed as Spike's usual Big Bad trademark.  It was him, and then not, like a butterfly caught in transition, and the effect was disconcerting to say the least.  "It's your chip," he finally said out loud.  "I'm not yet comfortable with the fact that you're in a position now to hurt Buffy."

"Newsflash, Rupert.  I could _always_ hurt Buffy.  I just chose not to all this time."

"That doesn't exactly make me feel better, Spike."  He shook his head.  "I told Buffy this, and I'm going to tell you the same thing.  Having a chip did not instill you with a soul.  Just because you've managed to not make a mess of things so far, doesn't necessarily mean you'll do the right thing, or that you even understand what the right thing is."

"So, you're tellin' me that little pep talk back in my crypt, with all that higher purpose claptrap…that was just lipservice, right?  You didn't believe one soddin' word of it."

"I did, but---."

"Should've known you wouldn't be able to walk the walk," Spike muttered.  Disappointment clouded his aspect.  "Not that it makes a bloody difference to me, but Buffy has this fancy notion of caring what you think."

"This isn't about that.  This is about understanding what's right, and what's wrong without having to rely on technology to shock it into you."

"Hate to break it to you," the vampire said, "but I've always known the difference between right and wrong." Though his voice was firm, there was no corresponding coldness in his gaze.    "Just never cared about it before, is all."

"Oh, please," Giles replied, with a roll of his eyes.  "Don't even try pulling that 'you care about it now' line with me.  You think you know me so well?  Don't forget, I lived with you, too.  I'd rather think I know you just as well as Buffy does at this point."

"Things are different," Spike argued.  "Have been for awhile.  I'm not sayin' I'm all reformed and the like.  I'm just sayin'…"  He exhaled loudly in exasperation, long fingers running through his hair.  "I'm just sayin'," he tried again, "the world looks different to me now.  I don't…have the same type of urges as I did.  Don't get me wrong.  They're still there, just…don't really want to be acting on them all the time like I did before.  Doesn't seem right."

"Are you trying to tell me that every time you look at Buffy, you don't see the potential of another Slayer to add to your count?  A…living blood bag, so to speak?"

"No.  I see the woman I love."

The matter-of-factness of his tone and the speed of his reply drove Giles to stare into the demon's eyes, searching for any sign of duplicity.  The clearest cobalt stared back, daring him to question the truth that hung between them like a double-edged sword, and almost imperceptibly, the Watcher began shaking his head.

"You're not nearly good enough for her, you know," he said quietly, his body already tensing for an even lengthier argument.

He surprised him.  "I know," Spike acquiesced, his voice equally low.  "Don't think that I'm not goin' to live with that every single moment she lets me share her life with her.  But she seems to think it doesn't matter, so for her sake, I'm goin' to set it aside."  He looked away for the first time since starting the conversation.  "I'm not lookin' for your approval in how I feel about her, Rupert.  But I'm not goin' to let you deny it, either.  It's real, and it's not goin' away, and I swear that for as long as she'll let me, I'll do whatever it takes to make her happy."

The car lapsed into silence as both Englishmen sank into their reveries, their thoughts not so different as each dwelled on the golden form of the Slayer and what she meant in their lives.  The air grew thick as the seconds passed, broken only when the back door opened and Clara collapsed onto the seat, a heavy bag in her lap.

"Next time I need supplies," she gasped, "remind me to take one of you strapping young men along with me to do the carrying."

*************

It was left to Freddie to help Clara with the supplies through the swamp, as the low-hanging sun forced Spike to travel with the blanket over his head, leaving Giles to manage the weapons cache.  They had been met at the morass' edge by the other team, and after perfunctory direction from the vampire about what had happened during his previous visit, they had split up, each group trekking through the bog toward what they hoped was the final stop on their Big Easy expedition.

Tara sported one gris gris, while Giles had the other, dividing their protection against Sandrine should the mambo take them by surprise.  The redhead was already there, and it was that trail that Tara followed, leading her small group with more than a little trepidation toward the pull of the darker magic.  With the sun still out, they knew that Iris' usual coterie would not be in attendance until later, and each and every one of them fervently wished that they reached the proceedings before that happened.  Of course, that didn't preclude other types of demons to come into play, so they remained on guard regardless, creeping through the swamp as stealthily as they could.

The protection of the swamp meant Spike didn't have to wait until complete sunset before tossing aside the blanket, and he immediately took one of the swords from Giles' care as his eyes swept the perimeter.  Outside of the usual creepy crawlies that inhabited the area, he sensed absolutely nothing amiss, and felt the first finger of disappointment crawl up his spine.  Too easy, he thought, following after Freddie's lead.  We're getting in here too easy.  Why doesn't that bitch have more defenses in place?

*************

Tara came to a halt in the middle of a boggy patch, an unsuspecting Anya almost colliding behind her.

"Watch it," the ex-demon complained in a voice not designed for discretion.  She fidgeted with the sword she was having difficulty not dragging along the earth, and wished yet again that she'd asked for a lighter weapon.

"Sshhh," Tara warned.  She cocked her head as if she was listening for something, and nearly jumped out of her skin when Peter rested a solid hand on her shoulder.

"There are voices ahead," he said in a silken rumble.  "I will go on and scout them out."

"No way," Xander hissed, stepping up.  "All for one and one for all here.  Nobody's scouting solo.  Them's the rules."  He almost blanched when the towering giant turned his leaden gaze upon him, and swallowed hard to maintain his composure when the other man spoke.

"I was born here," he said simply.  "I know these lands better than you.  I will be careful."

"Oh, and just because I'm not Brier Rabbit, I can't be careful, too?" the brunette countered.  

"Xander!  I'm stressed out enough about this.  Lay off the bunny talk."

He flushed at his slip.  "Sorry, Ahn."

Peter's face remained blank.  "Have you ever fought a vodou priestess before?  Would you even know how?"

"They're not any relation to Incan mummy girls, are they?" he joked.  "'Cause _those I got experience with."_

Peter didn't even crack a smile, just lifted the sword in his hands and used it to point in the vicinity in front of them.  "She is out there," he said simply.  "I only wish to ensure that you remain safe."

"And what about you?"

But Peter was already moving, silent through the muck, his skin disappearing into the encroaching dark as he stepped away.  Tara rested her hand on Xander's arm when he inched to follow.

"We'll give him five minutes," she said.  "He knows what he's doing.  And we're safe as long as we have the gris gris."

"Yeah, but what about him?" Xander muttered, as his eyes narrowed to follow the man in front of them.

*************

Something was going on, something she'd been sensing ever since Sandrine's surprise visit at the cottage, but what it was exactly, Willow couldn't put her finger on.

Not that Buffy turning herself over instead of Freddie was all that surprising.  It smacked left and right of the Slayer's brand of hero-saving.  No, what Willow couldn't figure out was why Buffy never once tried to escape from Sandrine's clutches, and why she had deliberately tried to goad the mambo into anger earlier at Iris' apartment.

_There must be some kind of plan.  She and Spike came up with something to finish this all up_.

What it could be, though, escaped her understanding.

Sandrine had finally made good on her gag threat, muzzling Buffy long before they'd left the apartment.  Willow could see her now, stretched out on the dais the demons the mambo was employing had set in the middle of the swamp.  Ropes lashed her to the stone surface, while a circle of fire was already starting to grow around the platform.  It was several feet away, out of reach of actually harming the Slayer, to act more as a signal for Sira once he was summoned, but even knowing that nugget of information didn't quell the fear that shook Willow's awareness.

She wasn't the only one afraid.  Before stepping away from the display, Sandrine had looked down at the bound Slayer, and Willow had seen the beginning of worry creeping into Buffy's eyes.

_This wasn't what they had been expecting.  Buffy's not sure she's going to make it out of here._

She felt the cool satin of the staff in Sandrine's hand, now intact and waiting for the words to be uttered that would bring it purpose again.  The demons encircled the clearing, and though Willow knew Iris was lying in wait for complete sunset, she suspected Sandrine wasn't nearly so patient.

_OK, not so much with the thinking everything is going to be all right_, she thought desperately._  Maybe a little extra super-duper praying might be in order._

_Are you there, God?  It's me, __Willow…_

To be continued in Chapter 39: Dark Magus…


	39. Dark Magus

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.  And the chapter titles are courtesy of Miles Davis.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Sandrine has lashed Buffy to a stone dais in preparation for sacrificing her to Sira, the Scoobies have split up to get ready to stop the summoning, and Giles and Spike are guarding Freddie and Clara while they try to send Sandrine back into the ether…

*************

Spike's gaze was sweeping the darkened shadows of the clearing when he heard the small question from behind him.

"Did anyone remember to bring a flashlight?" Freddie asked.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Giles turning to look back at the pair on the ground.  "What on earth do you need a flashlight for?" the Watcher asked, annoyed.  "I don't see you reading from a text or anything."

"I can't tell which root this is," the young man said.  "I don't want to mess this up."

Clara's exasperated sigh almost brought a smile to the vampire's face.  Guess even the all-knowing ones can get peeved at the lad, he thought in amusement.  "Just give that to me," he heard her say, followed by the rustling of some leaves and the clicking of beads.  "Now.  Start your prayers.  Let's get this show on the road."

Her orders were punctuated by a rumble trembling the ground beneath the vampire's feet, and Spike stumbled awkwardly before regaining his balance.  As his head whipped around, a series of growls emanated from the darkness around him, and he stiffened as his senses went into alert.

"Please tell me that wasn't because of the wrong soddin' root," he said in a low voice.

"We haven't even started yet," Freddie replied shakily.  The whites of his eyes gleamed as his gaze darted around, his hands beginning to shake against his bended knees until Clara reached across and settled hers on top of his.

"Then I suggest you do," Giles said grimly.  "Before---."

He was cut off by a much louder version of the growl, and a flash of scales tackled him to the ground, his blade slicing fruitlessly at the air.  Spike was to him in a second, grabbing the demon by the scruff of the neck and tossing him aside, shielding the two on the ground behind him from further interruption as Giles scrambled to his feet.

"Get to it!" the vamp barked to Freddie, swinging his sword as the demon lunged forward again, its slitted eyes glowing red against the ebony background.  Knew this was too easy, he thought as the adrenaline of the fight began to dictate the fluid movements of his body.  He ducked a powerful fist with a determined smirk.  Couldn't have the vamps here before sunset so the bitch brings in the back-up.  Should've seen that one comin' a mile away.

When the demon's fist clouted the side of his head, sending him sprawling sideways with a shower of stars suddenly obscuring his vision, he thought irritably as he shook it off, _Should've seen that comin', too._

*************

At least she could still see, even if being forced to stare up at the star-laden sky was all she was limited to.  Being bound and gagged had not been on the books for this plan, and the fact that she could hear the demons Sandrine had brought along as protection until the vampires could show up shuffling around in the distance did little to assuage Buffy's alerted nerves.

When the dais vibrated beneath her back, she grimaced behind the gag, hands reacting instinctively to loose themselves from their bindings.  OK, she'd been willing to play along with the hogtying when she thought the others would get rid of Sandrine before she'd actually summon Sira.  But, in her experience, earthquakes never announced anything happy and shiny, so the time for pretending was over.  She just had to break free of the ropes, get out, and take her risks in trying to take Sandrine down on her own.

The strain of her biceps was frozen by a scalding hand curled around her wrist, and Buffy turned her head to see Peter's blistered face peeking over the edge of the platform.  He was kneeling on the ground on the side furthest away from the mambo, with burns scorching his exposed skin from where he'd come through the ring of fire.  Slowly, he lifted a finger to his mouth to indicate she should remain silent, and she rolled her eyes.  Didn't he see she was gagged?

Through the crackle of the flames, she heard the distant sound of Sandrine's voice, chanting words in a language she didn't recognize, and started struggling again.  This time, Peter's hands came up to help her, working the knots in the rope with surprising ease.  As soon as her wrists were free, Buffy reached up and pulled off the cloth that covered her mouth, exhaling deeply in glorious appreciation of the fresh rush of air to her lungs.

"Your friends wait," Peter said in a voice only she could hear.  "Directly behind me, there is a clear path out of here.  If you are quick, the demons will not see you before you are free.  Your friends are not that far away."

"And Spike?" she asked, and then cringed at how selfish that sounded.  "Is he…are Freddie and Clara doing the vodou thing to get Willow back?"

Peter nodded.  "Everyone is doing their share," he said simply.  "The people you choose to surround yourself with are very brave.  It is my honor to have had this opportunity to help you, Buffy Summers."

Her muscles tensed to rise from her prone position, but the definitive tone of his voice made her pause.  "That sounds remarkably like a good-bye speech," she said just as quietly.  "Trust me.  I've heard and said more than my share."

"You need to hurry," he said, ignoring her accusation.

"You mean _we_ need to hurry."

Peter's eyes were fathomless as he stared back at her, unblinking and inky in his solemnity.  "Someone must stay or the mambo will be alerted to our presence," he explained.

Her eyebrows quirked.  "Oh, and the fact that her sacrifice has morphed from a petite, blonde, white girl into a seven-foot, bald black man won't be obvious at all.  Something tells me she's a little smarter than that."

"The flames obscure enough.  As long as she can see a body, she will not question it."

"I'm not leaving without you," she argued.

"You do not have a choice."  With a liquid grace, he yanked her from the dais, pulling her body beneath his as he rolled sideways onto the surface.  Both his hands shoved her in the direction of the fire, and she stumbled onto the soft ground.  "Go," he said.  "Time is not currently on our side.  You must make haste."

Her lips parted to argue, but another rumble shook the earth, sending her hands flying out to steady herself.  By the time she looked back at the dais, Peter had turned away, his eyes closed, and she could see his mouth moving silently.  Praying, she thought as she rose to her feet.  As she bent over and made a dash through the dancing flames, the heat momentarily blinding before the sultry air of the night embraced her on the other side, Buffy added her own to his unspoken words, because even if nobody ever heard them, positive thoughts never hurt.

*************

The words rolled from her tongue, her eyes shut as her face tilted toward the heavens.  _Yesssss_, Sandrine thought as she felt the electrical power from the staff she held vertically in her right hand resonate through her fingers, binding and tingling and setting the small hairs on her arms on end.  Starting before sunset had been the smartest idea she'd ever had.  By the time Iris arrived with her entourage, Sira would be summoned and firmly under her control.  His power would be hers.  And her enemies, would be his.

Nothing could stop her now.

*************

There weren't many attacking them, maybe four although it was often hard to tell, but they were strong, and determined, and…

Giles wrinkled his nose as he swung his sword at the nearest's midsection.  And quite definitely the most foul-smelling creatures he'd encountered since moving to the US, he thought as he risked a moment to wipe away a stream of blood that was trickling in his eye.  An amalgam of scales and orifices oozing various secretions, the demons carried no weapons, choosing instead to fight with the claws they sported as hands.  Their size made them clumsy, and already Spike had skewered one, with a second about to fall under his onslaught.

Behind him, Giles could feel the charge of the spell Freddie was chanting, but the true power emanated from the seer, her focus channeling the young man's words into the ether, calling forth the djab so that he could return Willow to control of her physical self.  They had been lucky so far.  Not one demon had made it past either him or Spike.  If they could just keep it up long enough, everything would be all right.

He hoped.

"Watch out!"  Spike's voice sluiced through his momentary distraction, and Giles pivoted in time to evade the crashing forms of the vampire and his prey rolling through the muck.  They ended with Spike on top, and his blade glimmered in the moonlight as he plunged it through the demon's neck, quelling its growl with a bloody gurgle.

"Two down," Spike said with a smirk, hopping to his feet, his tennis shoes almost glowing in the dim illumination.  He shouted in protest as Giles shoved him aside, the Watcher thrusting forward to impale the demon that had been about to sink its claws into the vampire's back.

The older Englishman pulled his sword back with an audible squelch, scowling when a shower of fluids rained upon his trousers.  Turning, he proffered his free hand to Spike, saying, "And one left to go."

Spike hesitated, his eyes narrowing as they darted from the extended palm to Giles' face, before his mouth settled into a firm line.  "Right," he replied, taking the offer with a firm grip and hopping to his feet.  An approaching growl with an accompanying fetid stench caused the two men to circle in unison to face the remaining demon.  "Let's show this wanker a thing or two about English superiority, Rupert."

The smile that quirked the Watcher's lips was unexpected.  "You do realize Buffy would have a few words about either one of us expressing such an opinion, don't you?" he queried in amusement.

Spike's foot lashed out, connecting with the approaching demon's torso and sending him back onto the ground.  "Don't really see the Slayer around at the moment, do you?" he said with a responding grin.

For the briefest of moments, Giles chuckled.  Maybe having Spike around a bit more might not be such a bad thing after all.

*************

"It's been more than five minutes!" Xander exploded, his voice a hiss of frustration.  "No more waiting, Tara.  I say, we get in there and we get Buffy out."

"Too late," the blonde witch murmured.  

Her eyes were fixed over his shoulder, and Xander frowned at being so obviously discounted.  "It's _not too late," he argued.  "Buffy needs---."_

"Buffy needs what?"

He whirled at the sound of the Slayer's voice, and nearly collapsed in relief when he saw her tiny form standing in front of him, eyes wide as they looked around her friend.  "Nothing, obviously," he said.  Without even realizing what he was doing, he dropped his weapon to scoop her into a bear hug, hugging her tightly before setting her back down on the ground.  It was only then that he realized she was alone, and his smile faded.  "Where'd tall, dark, and scary get to?" he asked.  "He did find you…right?"

A shadow passed over Buffy's face.  "Where are Spike and the others?" she asked, ignoring his question.  "They didn't have any problems getting Freddie and Clara set up to up to vodou Willow out, did they?"

Tara shook her head.  "We split up when we realized Sandrine was already here.  Do you know what those tremors were a minute ago?"

"Patience isn't one of Sandrine's better virtues.  I think she's starting the party early."  Buffy turned back to face the direction from which she'd come.  "We need to get back there before she gets any further."

"But her summoning won't work now," Anya said as the trio trailed after the Slayer.  "She doesn't have a sacrifice for Sira any more."

"I wish I could say that was true," Buffy muttered.  Louder, she added, "No going in until I say so.  Sandrine brought guards of the non-vampire variety."  She took a deep breath.  "Now, let's go."

*************

_No, no, no, no, no…_

Not that chanting denial inside what remained of her consciousness was going to do any good, but as she felt the power course through the body she was being forced to share, Willow's sense of helplessness could find no other outlet.  It was happening, and the hairs on her neck were prickling from the energy created by the voix mortelle, the skull perched on its end glowing.

_If it opens its mouth and screams, I swear I'm going to officially wig._

Slowly, Sandrine opened her eyes, and Willow found herself staring up into the sky, clouds rolling and forming directly over her head.  The mambo was smiling, the beginning of a laugh creeping into her throat, and with a definitive thrust, lifted the staff to point directly at the dark grey cumulus.

The earth shook again, but Sandrine retained her balance, watching as the magical power she'd been generating with the staff leapt from the skull's eyes to pierce the cloud with a brilliant flash.  A clap that resided somewhere between a screech and a boom cleaved the air, reverberating against her eardrums with a force that made her spine pulse, and the trembling in the ground grew.

_Oh, sweet Hecate, here it comes…_

It was with great reluctance Willow allowed herself to follow the mambo's gaze as it lowered to the dais in the distance.  The fire was high, much higher than when they'd started, and it distorted the shape of Buffy's body that could barely be discerned through the flames, making it appear longer and darker than she knew could be possible.  She knew from Sandrine's thoughts that Sira wouldn't be under her control until he accepted her sacrifice, but judging from the fissures that were already starting to form in the earth around them, it wouldn't be that long now before he showed up.

It was then that she caught the flash of movement in the far edge of the clearing, sinking into the other woman's confusion as she slowly stepped to the side in order to see more clearly.  Her eyes narrowed, and then widened as Buffy stepped from the trees, Tara directly behind her.

"No," Sandrine hissed, her head whipping around to look at the dais again.  That was unmistakably a body that was resting there, but who it could be, neither woman knew.

Willow's flash of excitement at seeing both her best friend and Tara, armed and ready for action, dissipated almost as quickly as it arose when she felt the rising anger inside her throat.  Panic made her freeze, and as the magic still thrummed in her body from the summoning, she could feel Sandrine pulling it forward, focusing it on her fury, her free hand extending and pointing at Tara---.

_Noooooo__!!!!!_

*************

Not possible, Sandrine thought angrily, as her eyes fixated on the two blondes across the clearing.  The Slayer and the little witch's lover.  There was no way they could be here; Buffy should still be on the dais and Tara wasn't supposed to even know the summoning was happening tonight.

Yet, there they were.  And Sandrine wanted nothing more than to get rid of them, and everything they represented, once and for all.

As the power bubbled and scalded beneath her skin, her hand came up, ready for the fire to erupt and eradicate the blights from her plan.  Determined glee spread her lips into a vicious smile, and her eyes glittered in anticipation of seeing them burn.

The scream exploded inside her skull, bouncing and blinding and making her flesh seethe in pain.  Sandrine echoed its cry, the voix mortelle slipping from her grasp as her hands came up to clutch her head.  For the first time, her balance faltered, and the redhead dropped to her knees as she vomited into the earth.

Behind her lids squeezed tightly shut, her eyes seared as the pain receded.  What the hell…? she thought raggedly.  If she didn't know better, she would've thought it was her own voice inside her mind, but then that wasn't…

And the possibility of what it could be iced the ache, steeling her limbs as her fingers clawed into the dirt.

No.

The little witch was gone.

It couldn't be her.

…Could it?

*************

The shriek that came from Sandrine's lips reached them across the clearing, sending shivers down Buffy's spine and compelling Tara instinctively forward.  Only the Slayer's arm held her back, stopping the witch from rushing to her lover's side, and she turned wide, anguished eyes to the smaller woman.

"What h-h-happened?" Tara asked.

"I don't know."  Buffy's gaze was riveted on the writhing redhead in the distance.  The scream had sounded bestial, wracked in pain, and the fact that she was now getting sick didn't bode well.  Is this what happens when Willow comes back? she wondered.  Briefly, she noticed the struggle the demons guarding the clearing were having with the tremors that were splitting the earth, and saw at least one fall into a chasm as it opened beneath him.  "Give me the gris gris," she ordered quickly, and held out her hand.

Tara slipped it from her neck and passed it over.  "What are you going to do?"

"If that's not Willow yet, I want to be there when it is.  Iris and her crew haven't shown yet, so we've only to got to deal with the scaled ones here and the tremors."  She turned back to look at Xander and Anya coming up behind them.  "Stay in the trees," she instructed.  "And be careful of the cracks.  If you have to, climb a tree or something.  Just don't fall into anything."

And with that, she took off in a dead run for the other side of the clearing.

*************

The tremors were getting stronger, and not twenty feet away, Spike saw the beginning of a split in the muck, the ground opening as if to relinquish the last of its treasures.  "Shit," he muttered, frowning as he took a step closer to it.  There weren't any more demons to be threatened by, but Freddie and Clara were still at it behind him, his voice low and clear in spite of the hum that seemed to fill the air.

Where the vampire was staring at the ground, Giles' gaze was trained on the sky, watching the hole that had formed in the clouds fill with a dazzling silvery light.  "Damn it," Giles muttered.

Two sets of blue eyes met.  "We didn't make it, did we?" Spike asked unnecessarily.

"I'm afraid not."  He glanced back at the pair on the ground before looking off into the distance.  "Can you find Buffy?" he quizzed.

Spike inhaled deeply, and then nodded.

"Go to her.  If Sira arrives, she's going to need as much help as she can get."

"What about the mojo makers?"  He gestured toward the display between Freddie and Clara.

"They're almost done.  There shouldn't be any more threats from those demons.  I'll get them back to the car as soon as they tell me it's time."  He watched as the vampire turned and began to run into the inky darkness.  "And watch out for those fissures!" Giles called out after him.

*************

She almost didn't make it when a crack opened in front of her, sending the Slayer in a rolling leap to its other side in order to avoid falling in.  When she came to her feet, Buffy realized she was only a few feet away from Sandrine now, and that the redhead's shriek had finally died away.

"What have you done?" Sandrine rasped, sweat from the fire and her pain gluing single strands of hair to her cheeks.

"Me?"  Buffy asked innocently.  She cocked her head as she looked down at the other woman.  "You're the one with the pointy stick this time."  They both looked down at the voix mortelle that rested on the ground between them.  "If you've got a problem with the weather, maybe you shouldn't have done your little raindance."  Behind her, the Slayer could hear the crackling of the fire burn higher, the occasional spark electrifying her skin when it escaped and landed on her.  I sincerely hope Peter's making a run for it, she thought grimly.  Because I'm just a little too busy at the moment to go lend an extra hand there.

"She's in…my head."  Sandrine winced, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment before returning to glare at the blonde.  "How did you do it?" she asked again.

"I assume you're talking about Willow."  Slowly, she took a step forward.  "I hate to break it to you, but you never really got rid of her.  Willow's been in the back seat all along.  And in just a few minutes, she's going to be in the driving seat.  It's over, Sandrine."

"No.  I refuse to believe that."  Her hands came up before Buffy could jump out of her way, but the magic died in a spray of sparks as soon as it reached the gris gris, scattering around the Slayer's feet to sink into the mud.

"I don't know why.  Who do you think let Spike go?  Did you _really think I could've found him so fast?  I mean, I'm flattered and all, but c'mon, think about it.  Would I have helped him escape without at least taking his clothes along?  Have you _seen _how sexy he is in that coat?"  Another step, another few inches closer to the staff.  "It was all Willow.  She's the one who confirmed for us that Freddie would help us.  She's the one who got rid of your spell so that Spike could get away.  And _she's_ the reason you're going to lose."  Another step, but this time, Sandrine's hand shot out to curl around the slim shaft._

A fresh quake sent both women sprawling, forcing the mambo to release her grip on the voix mortelle.  As Buffy scrambled for purchase, she felt suddenly weightless, as if she was floating on a bed of air, and realized with a split second to spare that the earth was crumbling around her.  She launched herself upward, using the loosening ground for whatever leverage it would provide, twisting her body to angle it away from the chasm that was spreading where she had been.

Rolling to safety, she looked up in time to see the staff disappear into the hole, and Sandrine scampering as close as she could to its edge, a look of horror on her face.  "No!" the redhead screamed in frustration.  But the cry immediately turned into one of pain, Sandrine's body whipping backward as her eyes rolled back into her head.  

Buffy was at her side as quickly as she could leap the fissure, her fingers pushing back the damp hair that clung to her neck to settle on the hollow at its base.

Her breathing was rasping, her pulse even more erratic, and as the Slayer knelt there, the throbbing eased, softening as it slowed, until finally…it disappeared.

"No…" Buffy murmured in shock, as she stared down at her pale friend.

To be continued in Chapter 40: Prince of Darkness…


	40. Prince of Darkness

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.  And the chapter titles are courtesy of Miles Davis.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Sandrine used the voix mortelle, creating a series of shocks that are splitting the earth; Peter took Buffy's place on the dais so that she could escape; Buffy retrieved Tara and the others and went back to the clearing but when Sandrine tried to attack them, Willow exerted her will and stopped her; Freddie and Clara worked to reverse Sandrine's presence, but when it looked like Sira might be arriving, Giles sent Spike off to help Buffy…

*************

He knelt over the young man's unconscious body, able fingers pressing lightly into his wrist.  "It's faint, but it's there," Giles said as he felt the thready pulse at his fingertips.  

"I believe I told you that already," Clara said nonchalantly.

Glancing away from Freddie's pale face, the Watcher saw her picking up the various items from the ground, tucking them away into her bag as if the earth wasn't shaking beneath her seat.  "Pardon me for being concerned when a young man collapses into my lap," he commented dryly.  "I suppose no matter how many potential apocalypses I may help avert, I'll just never be comfortable bearing witness to one of my allies' possible death."

She dismissed his comment with a wave of her hand.  "The boy was never in any risk of dying," she said.  "And you really need to relax.  We're on the same side here, remember?  I wouldn't have helped if I didn't think I could do some good."

"Well, you certainly weren't recruited for your bedside manner," he muttered as he worked at loosening Freddie's shirt.  Perhaps a bit of fresh air would be enough to revive him.

Clara smiled.  "One of the benefits to having some clue as to what's coming, I guess.  If I don't seem concerned, it's because I know what's goin' to be, is already been.  Nothing you or me can do at this point can change the tracks, Mr. Giles.  We might as well just sit back and enjoy the ride."  As if to emphasize her point, the ground quaked beneath them, driving Giles to his knees in order to steady himself.

"My apologies if I'm not the sort to just 'sit back,'" he barked at her.  His temper was short.  He'd watched Freddie get inhabited by the djab, then collapse into unconsciousness, lying there looking very much dead in spite of the contrasting argument of his heartbeat.  In the distance, he could hear the rumblings of what he was convinced could only be Sira, he had no idea if Buffy was safe, and here was Clara trying to tell him to essentially take it easy?  Perhaps he should've gone instead of Spike.  At least then, he wouldn't have to worry about---.

"Your Slayer is safe, dearie," she said softly, as if she was reading his thoughts.

His head jerked up.  "Then she stopped the summoning."  He was about to exhale in relief when she shook her head.

"Sira's already risen."  Her eyes were enigmatic, shining back the glints of moonlight that managed to break through the clouds, the faintest hint of a smile curling her lips.  "Or did you think the ground splitting around us was the latest in horticultural experimenting?"

"So Spike got to her in time?"

"No, Peter did."  Clara lumbered to her feet.  "There's more at work here than you truly understand, Mr. Giles.  And not that I'm the type to be tellin' people what they should do, but perhaps your energies might be better served in getting our young friend here back to the car instead of fussing about issues that'll be resolved before you can even reach them."

Before he could respond, his attention was diverted by Freddie's groan of pain, a shaky hand reaching up to the young man's forehead as if to stave away the pain.  "Sometimes, I really _hate this vodou stuff," he muttered as he struggled to push himself upright._

"Do be still," Giles instructed.  He rolled his eyes when the ground refused to cooperate and rumbled again, pitching him against Freddie's legs and knocking them both in a tangle of limbs to the side.

"Tell that to the ground," Freddie said, and then frowned.  "And why's this still all goin' on?  Willow should be back now, right?"

"You tell me," the Englishman muttered.  Scooping beneath the other man's arms, he pulled him vertical as Giles managed to stand.  "But do so back at the car."  He cast a glance sideways at a waiting Clara.  "Our work is done here."  Silently, he added the prayed codicil, _Let's hope so at least, before pulling him away in the direction of the Desoto._

*************

Xander frowned at the flash of white that appeared below him.  "Spike?" he asked in a forced whisper.

The white expanded to include the pale expanse of the vampire's frowning face as he peered upward.  "Harris?" he quizzed back.  One brow lifted in immediate amusement.  "Up a tree, huh?  Should've seen that one comin'."

"Buffy told us to wait here---."

Mention of the Slayer's name jerked Spike's head back around again, peering into the clearing before him.  "She's safe then?"

"Safe as she can be considering we've got the towering inferno out there," Xander replied.

"What about Red?"

"Sh-sh-she's in there, too."  When Spike's gaze swiveled to see Tara peering down at him from a distant tree, she smiled in acknowledgement, though her eyes were haunted.  "She tried attacking us, b-b-but something happened to stop her."

The vampire nodded.  "You lot stay put," he ordered as he resumed his course for the clearing.  "If Buffy wants you out of the way, then there must be a reason for it."

He was gone before Xander could respond, and the brunette scowled as he squinted through the branches and watched him disappear into the night.  "Not that I'm hopping to be Sandrine's next little mister matchstick," he said, "but how come Spike's the one who's jumping into the fray down there and we're scoping out the perfect treehouse spots up here?"

"Well," said Anya from the branch behind him.  "He's got vampire speed, vampire strength, not to mention it looks like he found Buffy without breaking a sweat.  Metaphorically speaking, of course."

"Right."  As he shifted his weight to try and look into the distance, a spray of leaves fluttered to the damp ground beneath him.  "Why does that _still not make me feel better about this?"_

*************

No, Buffy thought in desperation as she pulled Willow's lifeless form away from the opening crevasse.  _I did not come this far just to lose her now_.  Her heels scrabbled against the loose earth, the smoke in the air clogging her lungs, but the only thing that mattered to the Slayer then was what she was going to do to get her best friend breathing again.

Once Willow was stretched out onto a relatively flat piece of earth, Buffy pushed back the hair that was matted to her face by sweat, revealing the pale cheeks.  One hand slid behind her neck as she tilted her head up, but as she leaned over to begin mouth-to-mouth, a shudder convulsed the redhead's frame, accompanied by a piercing scream that split the air.

The Slayer jumped back, landing on her bottom as she watched Willow bolt upward, green eyes huge and staring up into the clouded sky.  As her cry faded, her breathing became a little more labored, her chest heaving as she seemed to struggle to regain her composure.  Seconds passed, until slowly, Willow's head turned to look over at the blonde.

"Buffy?"

She didn't need Spike around this time to know who this was.  With a puff of relief, she launched herself forward to snatch her friend up in a huge hug, relief and gratitude combining in a wrenched sob from her lungs.

Feebly, Willow's hands came up to pat Buffy on the back, but her gasping for air quickly made it clear that the Slayer was holding her too tightly.  She was smiling when they parted, though, the color very slowly returning to her cheeks.  "Next time you hear me complain about not being more assertive," she commented, "you have my permission to just slap me."

"Come on," Buffy said, jumping to her feet and holding out her hand to offer assistance to the other young woman.  "We have to get out of this place before it falls apart around us."

"We can't," Willow said, though she scrambled to her feet anyway.  "Can't you tell?  She did it.  She summoned Sira."

"Crap."  Her gaze narrowed as she turned to scan the clearing, the smoke burning her eyes, obscuring more and more of the terrain.  Most of the demons were now gone, either fled or fallen, and it appeared that the tremors quaking the earth were finally starting to abate.  The ground still shook, though, and when she felt Willow's hand grab her arm, turning her slightly so that she looked at the edge of the trees behind him, Buffy's insides froze.

Calling it a serpent demon wasn't entirely accurate, she decided.  Oh sure, it was scaled, with a flat hooded head rising from its snake-like body.  But serpents didn't have arms, and they sure as hell didn't have long, razor-sharp claws at the end of those arms.  And the whole rising up on back legs to stand taller than the trees themselves?  That sure as hell didn't scream out, "I'm a serpent, look at me," to Buffy at all.

"OK," Willow breathed next to her.  "Who's thinking the Mayor wasn't the biggest asp in the garden right about now?"

Silently, Buffy agreed.  "How're we supposed to kill _that_?" she mused out loud, and glanced at her friend out of the corner of her eye.  "You couldn't have come back just a few minutes earlier?"

"Don't look at me," the redhead replied.  "I'm assuming your beef is with Freddie for dragging his feet on the vodou end."

She didn't get a chance to respond.  Where for a moment, the world had stilled to an unearthly silence around them, now it erupted into a shuddering screech as Sira launched himself through the air, flying over the heads of the two girls, driving them to automatically duck even though it was more than fifteen feet above them.  Buffy whipped around to see it land on the inner circle of the fire that ringed the dais upon which she'd spent most of the night strapped, and felt her stomach drop.

Peter's unmoving body still lay there.  Waiting.

She was already running when Sira swooped in, knees pumping as she cleared the nearest of the cracks.  Not that she really thought she could make better time than a six-story snake who looked like he could fly, but she had to try.  That was the least she could do.

She wasn't expecting the hard body to tackle her from the side, sending them both rolling too near the edge of one of the crevices.  Her body twisted from the tight muscles, but she stayed her punch when she saw the familiar platinum head bob up.

"What the hell do you think you're doin'?" Spike demanded.

"It's good to see you, too," she retorted.  She leapt to her feet, dusting off her bottom as she turned to see Sira scoop up Peter's body in the claws it sported as hands.  "Oh, fuck," she muttered, watching the black man's body disappear down the serpent's gullet.

Spike squinted through the flames.  "Not that it makes a lick of difference now," he said, "but just who were we serving up for dinner tonight?"

"That would've been Peter."  She didn't get it.  He could've run at any point, and yet, he'd stayed within the fire.  Almost as if he'd been _waiting for Sira to show up.  But why?  It didn't make any sense._

Until it stepped through the fire and rose up onto its haunches, looking directly over the two blonds heads to Willow behind them.

"Mistresssss…" Sira hissed.  "I await your command."

*************

As soon as he saw the serpent demon in the clearing, Xander was grateful for having been ordered to stay behind.  "You didn't tell us that it was _that big," he complained to Anya._

"You saw the Mayor," she countered.  "How big did you think it was going to be?"

"If I never see another snake," he started, and then stopped when a flurry of movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention.  Pressing his body into the branch, Xander inched himself out further along its length, his weapon running down the length of his leg as he tried to maintain his balance.

"What're you doing?" Anya asked.

He didn't respond.  Instead, his brown eyes bored through the darkness, watching the shadows emerge from the foliage in the distance.  The pale gleam of moonlight scattering from undead skin made his blood run cold, and he hesitated for only a moment before rolling from his perch to land with a squelch to the mire below.

"What're you _doing_?" Anya repeated, her voice higher, more insistent.  She scowled as he began to walk toward the clearing.  "Both Buffy and Spike told us to stay here."

"That was before they knew we were going to have more company," he replied, and pointed.  "Iris and her vampire crew at two o'clock."

*************

Willow's eyes widened as Sira rose to its full height in front of her.  For the briefest of moments, she almost wished that Sandrine was back in control; she had no doubts that the other woman would know exactly what to do at the moment.  She only had one idea, but somehow she doubted asking the demon to throw itself on the fire and self-immolate so that the rest of them could escape without any more fanfare would go over very well.

"Mistressss…" it repeated, and she was transfixed as it took a step closer to her.

"Hi," she replied feebly, giving it a little wag of her fingers.  "Have a nice trip?"

Sira ignored her flippancy.  "What is my mistress' command?" it asked.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Buffy and Spike---_Spike?  When did he get here?---begin to skirt around the edge of the clearing, weapons drawn as their gazes were locked on the serpent gliding through the flames.  They were at just as much of a loss as she was, and though she could see that they were both ready to attack should the need arise, it was also obvious they were hoping they really wouldn't have to fight something quite so large._

Think, think, she ordered herself.  But her mind came up blank, her nerves skittering across her skin as Sira oozed even closer.

A cool hand came down upon her shoulder, and Willow shrieked in fright, whirling to see Iris standing just behind her.  Her eyes glowed golden in the dancing light, and she growled in disappointment at the smaller woman's reaction.

"Don't tell me you're scared of it now that we've got him," the vampire chastised.

It was then that she realized one element of power she still held.  As far as Sira and Iris were concerned, she was still Sandrine.  The one who commanded the serpent demon to do whatever it asked of her.  The one who had the blonde vampire sufficiently cowed in order not to cross her.  That could still work in her favor.

"Back off," Willow said as harshly as she could manage, quelling the tremor in her voice as she took a step away.  She held up her hands as if to begin a spell in Iris' direction, and felt an inner flush of power when the other woman instinctively retreated.  "There is no _we_, Iris," she continued.  "_I'm the one who masters Sira.  Don't ever forget that."_

"You can't control him if you're dead," Iris countered, her voice cool even if fear played across her face.  She lifted her hand as if to wave at someone behind her, and Willow saw the sets of amber-colored eyes come gleaming out of the darkness.

"What're you doing?" she demanded, and felt the magic boil within her hands, the sparks fly between her fingers.  Good golly Miss Molly, she thought.  I guess there's a little more of Sandrine left in me than I realized.

Though Iris took another step away, she remained unflappable.  "Something I should've done ages ago," she said.

Willow's hands swept in a circle around the two women, encasing them in a ring of fire that separated them from the approaching demons. "Sira!" she shouted out as her gaze lifted to stare up at the serpent.  The decision on what to do just got made a whole lot easier, she thought. "Kill all the vampires!"

*************

Buffy sensed the additional presences first, and turned just in time to avoid the assault from a pair of Iris' minions.  They went soaring through the air over her head, but by the time she'd turned to face them, Spike had already tossed one onto the bonfire behind him, grinning in delight when it burst into flame with a pained scream, and was fighting it out with the remainder of the pair.

Willow's command reached her ears, but the momentary satisfaction she felt at the unseen back-up was quickly replaced by grim determination when yet more of the vampires rushed to attack.  A roundhouse kick cleared those nearest to her, and she swung the sword in her hands to decapitate the first of the wave that followed.  

We can't keep this up for very long, she thought.  They were far too outnumbered, and though Sira was dispatching the vampires in droves, there were too many of them pouring in through the trees, replenishing the numbers almost as quickly as she and the others fought to keep them down.  _Geez_, did she recruit every vampire in __New Orleans__?__

At the edge of the clearing, she saw Xander and the others emerge with their weapons drawn, focusing on a single vampire at a time in an attempt to help with the fight.  It distracted her for a fraction of a second too long, though, and she screamed out loud, more in frustration than the actual pain, when a Neanderthal vamp tackled her around the waist, sending both of them into the mud and rolling dangerously close to one of the chasms that split the earth.

Its growls were too near her ear, and instinctively, Buffy threw her head back, feeling it connect with its jaw and loosening its grip.  It wasn't enough to get it off, though, and he sank his fangs into her shoulder, biting down into the sinew with a ferocity that made her eyes water.

The scream of anger shot through the air, and almost as quickly as it had settled there, the weight above the Slayer disappeared, allowing her to roll away from the threat and to see a demon-faced Spike throwing the offending vampire onto the pyre behind him.  Blood mottled his face, dripping from a deep gash along his brow, but before she could say anything, he had dropped to her side, cool hands tearing the fabric away from her neck to expose the mark on her shoulder.

"I did _not_ come all this way just to see you get taken out by a two-bit vamp with a Frankenstein complex," he growled, pressing his hands into the wound to staunch the flow of blood.

She grinned, in spite of the glower that furrowed the ridges in his brow.  "Love you, too, Spike," she said.  She grimaced when she tried to sit up, though, the pain shooting down her arm.

"Stop your bloody moving," he ordered, but his secret pleasure at hearing her say the words softened his tone.  Quickly, he risked a look around, noting the vampires that were still trying to reach them and the relative calm that surrounded Willow and Iris.  He frowned.  "At least we don't have to worry about Red," he commented, and then lashed out with a heel when an approaching demon got too close, sending it flying backwards, straight into Sira's claws.  "She's the eye of the storm, it looks like."

"Score one for our side," Buffy quipped.  Pushing his hands away, she struggled to her feet, ignoring the ache that remained in her shoulder, the sticky feel of her blood running down her back.  "Now if we could only do something about Godzilla over there---."

Her words were cut off as she was engaged in another battle, pulling away from Spike to face the aging brunette who'd sucker-punched her side.  That left the bleached demon to turn toward his own fight, but this time, the attacker that faced him towered in glowing scales for yards above him.

*************

Fuck, he thought as he stared up at Sira.  Not that he hadn't ever wished he was just a couple inches taller on the odd occasion, but somehow, up to this point, he'd never truly felt insignificant in stature.  Funny how looking down the wrong end of a snake demon as big as a redwood made one re-evaluate those kind of things.

A snap of Sira's claws sent Spike sprawling to the left in order to avoid being sliced in two.  By the time he'd rolled onto his back, another claw had come down, narrowly missing skewering his thigh, and he flipped himself backward, over the chasm behind him, in order to gain a little more distance from the demon.

Clearly, he was the next target, though why Sira was choosing to focus on him, Spike had no idea.  It was then he remembered Willow's words, the command to kill all the vampires.  Aw, Red, he thought with a scowl as he danced away from another swipe of those deadly pincers.  You couldn't have been a little more _specific and excluded me from the body count?_

That thought was all it took for the solution to present itself.

Well, really, remind him of its presence.  Because he'd had the solution to his own safety all along.

Red.  Safe and secure from Sira.

Though his foot slid in the mire when he twisted his body away from the latest sweep, Spike was off and running, leaping the splits in the earth that stood in his way.  At his back, he heard Sira's frustrated growl turn into a scream when he saw where the vampire was going.

_Can't bloody well stop now_.

_Not leaving Buffy behind to face this thing alone._

The shock that gleamed across Willow's face was lost when Spike dove through the flames to tackle her head on, enclosing her in his embrace as he twisted her around to put her body between his and the approaching serpent.  Immediately, Sira froze, its head rearing back as it gazed down at the pair on the ground.

"Don't.  Move," Spike hissed in Willow's ear.

She obeyed without question.  Slowly, he eased his body backward, struggling to a sitting position with the redhead resting firmly between his legs, her back pinioned to his chest.  He nearly growled when he saw Iris approach to their side.

"Are you crazy?" the female vamp said in amazement.  She folded her arms across her chest.  "You're ten times more powerful than Spike.  Just set him on fire and be done with it."

He rolled his eyes in annoyance.  What he wouldn't give to just shut Iris up permanently for a change.

Apparently, Willow had the same idea.

"I think you've just outlasted your usefulness, Iris," she said coldly, and looked directly into the serpent's eyes.  "Kill her, Sira."

She never had a chance to even move.  Before Spike could blink, the towering demon had lowered its nearest claw, its pincer slicing cleanly through the vampire's neck to send a shower of dust raining down into his and Willow's faces.

"About bloody time," he muttered as the redhead began sneezing convulsively against him.

Sira's head swiveled back to stare down at them, slitted eyes darting back and forth between its mistress and the demon of the sort she had ordered him to kill.  Around the clearing, the other vampires were starting to retreat, the death of their leader instilling the fear of failure into them.

"Tell him to leave me be," Spike said, not bother to keep his voice low any more as he pulled the pair of them to their feet.

Willow did as he instructed, holding up her hand to bar Sira back.  With the immediate threat of the vampires diminishing, and Iris no longer a menace, the world of the swamp seemed to be at a stalemate as Buffy and the others slowly advanced upon them.

"Well…now what?" the redhead asked when they were all together.  Though she was fairly certain it wouldn't do anything without her express order, she didn't dare tear her eyes away from the demon before her.

The sound of clapping behind them was the first response to her question and slowly, everyone but Willow turned to see D'Hoffryn standing at the edge of the clearing.  "Excellent show," he praised as he advanced upon the group.  "Thank you so much for sending Halfrek with the invitation."

"You couldn't have shown up a little bit earlier and given us a hand?" Buffy asked dryly.

"Oh, but I've been here all along," he replied.  "Well, since Sira showed up, at least.  I just didn't want to get in the way of all the lovely bloodshed."  His eyes turned to Willow.  "I always knew you had it in you, my dear Miss Rosenberg.  You truly are a marvel."

"Kinda busy here, D'Hoffryn," Willow said, keeping her voice low and even so that she wouldn't upset the serpent.

"Yeah," Buffy agreed.  "So, if you've got something to say---not that we're really all that interested right now anyway seeing as you didn't even pitch in with the fight---I suggest you come out and say it."

"But I thought you knew already."  His gaze returned to the Slayer, his head held high.  "I've come to fetch my voix mortelle."

To be concluded in Chapter 41: There Is No Greater Love…


	41. There Is No Greater Love

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.  And the chapter titles are courtesy of Miles Davis.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Willow is back, Iris is dead, but Sira is around while D'Hoffryn has showed up to claim the voix mortelle…

*************

Buffy stared at D'Hoffryn in disbelief.  "You're kidding me, right?" she said, folding her arms across her chest.  "You really expect to come waltzing in here after we've done all the dirty work, and just _walk away_ with your little staff thingie?  I think my mom would have something to say about a day shy and a dollar late here."

"Uh, Slayer, that would be a day late and---."  The look she shot Spike glinted with her best now-is-not-the-time-to-mess-with-me anger, and he pressed his lips together in proper rebuke, turning to face the other demon instead.  "Right.  You heard the lady.  Bugger off."

"Not without the voix mortelle," D'Hoffryn said evenly.  "And it _is mine.  Even the Slayer believes so, otherwise she wouldn't have referred to it as '__your little staff thingie.'"  He shook his head in mock dismay.  "Really, the way you slaughter the English language?  I'd say your tongue is almost as good a weapon as your tiny little fists."_

The step she took forward was instinctual, but Buffy was stopped by Anya's hand curled around her elbow.

"Suicide," the ex-demon said when the Slayer glanced back at her.  "Head honcho, remember?  Don't even look at him cross-eyed, or he'll cross your eyes, if you know what I mean."

With a sigh, Buffy turned back to face D'Hoffryn, but she uncurled her fists as she did so, attempting with the tiny gesture to show her willingness to talk.  Or rather, her unwillingness to die because as much as she hated to admit it, Anya had a point.  He was too powerful for her to fight without some serious magic behind her, and she doubted he'd let her get within ten feet without resorting to his own mojo.  She had to play this one smart.

"Uh…Buffy?"  Willow's voice was almost a squeak behind her.  "Not to be Little Miss Naggy Pants here, but...are we planning on doing anything about Sira?  You know, before he decides he'd rather eat me than listen to me."

"Tick tock, Ms. Summers."  D'Hoffryn was sounding far too gleeful about the whole situation, and she exhaled loudly in frustration as she inched herself back toward her friends.  "Not that this hasn't been a most delightful evening, but I have places to go, people to torture."

"Looks like this isn't your lucky night then," she replied.  "Because we don't have the staff."

For the first time, he faltered, his smile fading.  "It's not nice to lie to me.  You have Sira, ergo, you have the staff."

"Had.  Past tense."

"You _lost_ it?"

"More like…dropped it."  She gestured toward one of the many fissures that now littered the landscape.  "In one of those.  I guess Mother Nature got a little hungry."

"That's not helpful, Buffy."  This was from Anya, and it took all the Slayer's willpower not to roll her eyes.  

"Helpful has nothing to do with it," she replied tightly.  "It's the truth.  Go ahead, D'Hoffryn.  Look around all you want.  You can seek, but you ain't gonna find.  And if you don't believe me, just think about it rationally for a second.  Would I be standing here with a six-story snake breathing down my neck if I had some way of getting rid of it for good?"

He paused, his eyes narrowing as he considered her words, scrutinizing her calm face.  She was lying through her teeth, but there was no way she could let him catch on to that.  Buffy knew exactly which one of the cracks the voix mortelle had slipped into; she just didn't want the horned demon to start searching in case he accidentally found it.  She wasn't really in the mood to be arm wrestling with him over a stupid stick at this point in the game.

"I must say," he finally commented, "if this is the way you run your Hellmouth, it's really no wonder you have an apocalypse on your hands every year or so."  He shrugged.  "Ah, well, I can't say it hasn't been fun.  Between Anyanka's unsuspected loyalties and your penchant for falling in love with vampires, you've certainly kept me on my toes.  It's been…amusing, if not actually rewarding."

"So sorry to disappoint.  Oh, wait.  No, I'm not.  You haven't exactly been the most forthcoming in helping us out here, so me with the guilt?"  Buffy shook her head.  "Not so much."

D'Hoffryn chuckled.  "Quippy to the end.  Will wonders never cease."  The nod of farewell he gave them encompassed the entire group.  "I'm sure our paths will cross again," he said, and with a flash, disappeared from the swamp.

Anya was the first to break the ensuing silence with a relieved sigh.  "I am _so glad he was in a good mood," she said.  "I was really __not looking forward to picking out all your entrails from my hair."_

"And _your_ entrails would've been saved because…?" Willow couldn't help but ask, her eyes wide.

"Because D'Hoffryn likes me," Anya replied.  "I would've been spared."

"Oh, spare _me_," the redhead muttered.

"Willow."  Xander's voice caught all their attention.  "A little slack here?  Anya put herself out on a limb to help us get you back.  Maybe we can play nice-nice for a little bit, OK?"

Nobody was more shocked at his unexpected support than his girlfriend, and her face quickly creased into a wide smile.  "Thank you, Xander," she said.

He turned a warning finger toward her.  "And Ahn, _you might want to be a little more wary of the witch with the giant snake demon at her disposal," he said.  "Remember that thing called tact we talked about?  Now's probably a really good time to start practicing it."_

"Point taken," she said with a satisfied nod.

"Much as I like all the entrail talk," Spike said, "there's still the small matter of a looming serpent of death here for us to settle."

"Ixnay on the eathday, Spike," Willow said.  Her eyes were still glued to Sira, and her tone remained even, but the beads of sweat were already forming on her brow.  "Even if I do agree with you.  Anyone?  I'm open to suggestions here."

"Didn't we already meet our lifetime quota for really big snakes?" Anya asked.

"Considering it took blowing up the high school to get rid of the Mayor and we seem clean out of TNT, I'm fresh out of ideas," Xander said.

"I'm not."  Keeping a wary eye on the serpent, Buffy stepped over to the chasm into which the voix mortelle had fallen, daring to get as near to the edge as possible.  Only Spike's tight grip wrapped around her bicep stopped her from actually leaning to peer inside, and she straightened to look back at him with a frown.

"I'll go down," he said.  His tone brooked no argument, his eyes dark as they locked onto hers.  "I can see better in the dark than you, and you need to be up here in case something goes all to cock."

She nodded.  He was right, as usual.  "Be careful."

"When I've got you to get back to?"  His grin was crooked as his knuckles brushed against the curve of her cheek.  "Always."

Buffy grabbed his arm before he jumped down into the crevasse.  "And don't break it," she instructed.

Spike shrugged.  "It's your stick," he conceded, and promptly disappeared into the velvety darkness.

She could see the top of his head glowing---almost radioactively, she thought, suppressing the giggle that rose to her throat---as he landed at the bottom of the hole.  It wasn't as deep as she'd thought, even if she couldn't see how far it went, but its contents were a mystery, locked away in the black void as it sucked all the light from the air.  Her muscles were tense, her fingers curling into her palms as she waited, and when Xander stepped almost noiselessly up behind her, Buffy nearly jumped into the hole herself in anxiousness.

"Not that I'm one to be questioning your authority in these matters," Xander said in a low voice, "but…don't break it?  Please tell me there's a good reason for that."

"Yeah, there is."  Her eyes never left the chasm.  "We only break it and we're left with the possibility of all this happening again some time down the line.  I don't want to have to be worrying about someone scotch taping the staff together again, so we're going to get rid of it, once and for all."

"Heads up!"  Spike's voice was muffled but his intent was clear, and Buffy's hand shot out automatically when the staff zoomed skyward.

"Got it!"  Grabbing Xander's arm, she stepped away from the edge, dragging him with her, and watched as Spike leapt up, clearing the chasm to land with a soft thud several feet away.

He had vamped out while down below, but as he turned to look at the Slayer, his amber eyes melted into blue, his brow smoothing even though the mud that streaked his skin remained, mingling with the blood that he'd already shed during the fighting.  His clothes were a mess as well, but the grin he offered her was one of pure, unadulterated glee.  

In spite of herself, Buffy smiled.  It was hard not to be amused at Spike's childish delight in the joy of the fight.  And the fact that the prowess he'd always exhibited during their own battles was now going to be better put to use?  Just a bonus.

She didn't wait for any of their questions as she marched closer to the bonfire that still raged around the dais.  Sira's eyes followed her path, otherwise remaining still, but when she threw the voix mortelle onto the flames, Buffy could've sworn she saw the demon smile.  Imagining smiling snake lips, she thought as she turned back in time to watch the serpent disappear with a clap of thunder.  I am one tired Slayer.

"And that's all she wrote, folks," she said.  "No more snake to slay, no more vodou to who-do.  Time to pack it up and haul it home."

*************

Except for the sound of the shower, the cottage was eerily quiet, echoing in hollowness around Buffy's ears as she slumped against the back of the couch.  Exhausted didn't even begin to cover how tired she was, but sleep was still out of the question.  Not when she had so much packing yet to do.

The silence grew when even the distant rush of water disappeared, and the Slayer smiled.

And not when she had a certain vampire to thank.

He was humming under his breath when he emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped casually around his waist as rivulets of water dripped down the planes of chest.  Unable to resist turning to look at him, her smile softened when she saw him pause, shake his head to rid the platinum curls of excess water, and then hesitate before disappearing into the bedroom to look back and survey the nearly empty lounge.

"Not that I'm complaining," Spike said, "but where'd the Brady bunch bugger off to?  Didn't think we'd be gettin' a spot of privacy until after Christmas, at this rate."

"Everybody's gone," she explained, and began to tick them off on her fingers.  "Since we don't really have to worry about Iris any more, the gang's staying at a hotel tonight before catching their flight back to Sunnydale tomorrow.  Freddie took off for wherever home is once he got a lecture from Giles about doing the right thing.  And Xander drove Clara back to her shop since Peter ended up being toast."  Her eyes fluttered closed for a second before shooting back up.  "Oh, and Willow told me where I could find your coat."  She smiled.  "You don't have to go home without it."

"Sounds like you've got everything covered."  His step was silent as he crossed the room, dropping to the end of the sofa to take her bare feet into his hands.

She groaned out loud at the delectable pressure of his fingers along her soles, and stretched herself out so that her heels rested against the terry of the towel across his thighs, her eyes dropping closed again as she lost herself in the waves of pleasure emanating from her lower regions.  There was silence for a moment, and then…

"So what time is it you need me droppin' you off at the airport then?"  Spike's voice had dropped in timbre, silky and melodic, but its hint of distance drove Buffy's lids up again, to look at him concentrating on her feet.

"You don't," she said softly, and waited until he'd lifted his head, his eyes almost black as they gazed at her.  "I told Giles that I'd be going back with you in the Desoto.  The way I see it, the gang's kosher with watching the Hellmouth for a few extra days, and I deserve a little vacation.  So I'm going to spend some quality time with my guy."

His mouth quirked at her last two words, his head ducking almost shyly.  "Don't have air conditioning, remember," he said, and she was surprised at how gruff his voice sounded before it dawned on her that he was being oddly moved by what she'd volunteered.

Buffy wriggled her toes against his fingers.  "Still got my sparkly fan?" she asked brightly.

This time, he couldn't help turning it into a full-blown smile.  "If Tara didn't nick it," he replied.

"Then I'm all set.  Got you, got my fan, got a week without having to worry about one of my friends being turned into mincemeat by some snake demon.  What more could I ask for?"

As he continued his massage, water dripped from the ends of Spike's hair to land in the hollow of her ankle before sliding backward to her heel and soaking into the towel.  "Much as I'd like for you to come with, pet," he finally said, "maybe you should catch that plane with your friends tomorrow."

Buffy frowned.  This wasn't what she'd been expecting.  "Why?"

"It's just…"  He wasn't even meeting her eyes, focusing instead on the delicate arch of her instep.  "The trip out wasn't exactly a picnic for you, and I spent a good part of my dosh here.  Won't be the most comfy of drives if I'm havin' to sleep at the side of the road---."

"Oh, thank god," she rushed with a breathy exhalation.  Her lips curved as her muscles relaxed back into the cushions.  "For a second there, I thought you were breaking up with me or something."  She affected a bad impersonation of his accent.  "Thanks for the shag, Slayer.  It's been bloody memorable."  With a playful kick, Buffy nudged at his hip.  "Stop playing the noble boyfriend, Spike.  It's nice, but truly, unnecessary in this case.  When I told Giles what I was doing, he gave me his ATM card.  Money is _not_ an issue."

That caught his attention.  "Rupert's financing our trip back?"  His brows shot up.  "Did he fall into one of those holes Sira made and hit his head or something?"

"It's not like we can go crazy and stay at every five-star hotel we see---."

Spike snorted.  "Oh, because there's just _so_ many of those in Bugtussle, Arkansas," he retorted.  

Buffy ignored him.  "---and he gave me a limit not to go over," she finished.  "But yeah, Giles seems to be on the side of seeing you and me as something real, and he agrees that me sleeping in the Desoto is not of the good."  Pulling her feet away, Buffy crawled down the length of the couch to straddle his hips, feeling him nestle comfortably between her thighs.  "And here I thought you'd be hopping with excitement about this," she said.  She let her fingers trail across his clavicle, catching the tiny dewdrops of water that still clung there before deliberately leaning in to run her tongue along the same line, inhaling the scent of soap and smoke that permeated his flesh.

Spike's fingers dug into her hips, pulling her infinitesimally closer as he nuzzled the top of her head.  "Guess I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop," he murmured.  "Just…seems to be too good to be true, you know?  You…me…being my own man again…something's bound to come along to fuck all this up.  I just know it."

It almost hurt to pull away, and then to see the uncertainty clouding the brilliance of his eyes… "Don't," she said softly.  "Because I love you, and something tells me you might love me---."

Spike growled at the playful reservation in her words, tugging her against his chest before kissing the hollow of her throat.  "No might in it, pet," he said into the satin of her skin.  His arms curled around her waist to pull her more tightly against him.  "Love you more than anything.  I just don't want to lose you."

"And you're not.  You won't.  Even Giles knows that now."  Her heart was thudding inside her chest, her breathing increasingly labored.  "The past few days have been rough, but it's all over and now we can just get back to our lives the way we're supposed to be living them."

"Waiting for the next apocalypse to poke its ugly mug around?" he joked.

"Exactly," she replied.  "Just as soon as we get our little crosscountry vacation out of the way."  Her cheek settled against the groove of his shoulder, nestling there in the perfect matching puzzle piece.  "Think about it.  No Giles complaining about wanting to be blind.  No listening to Willow and Anya bicker about who should have more of Xander's attention.  No watching Xander try to---."

"OK, OK, I get the picture."  He was laughing, his body nearly vibrating beneath her, and she felt his hands come up to stroke her hair.  "So…we'll leave tomorrow at sundown, right?" he asked.  She nodded.  "Which means we've got the rest of tonight and tomorrow to do whatever it is we please…?"

Buffy smiled, but she didn't pull away, instead letting his wandering hands continue their caresses.  "You have a one-track mind, Spike."

"Oh, but what wonderful track it is, luv.  All hard and slicked up, just begging to be ridden…"

As his touch followed the tempo of his voice, she let herself drift away on the current of the mood he was creating, her body a heated flush, her head awash in color. Funny how it had taken temporarily losing one of the most important people in her life to discover a new one, and while the prospect of their Big Easy days had made her yearn for easier obstacles, in hindsight, Buffy was grateful for what she'd been given.  She might not have found Spike so deeply rooted in her world without the issues they'd been forced to overcome or address.  And while his love for her certainly grounded her more deeply than anyone else's had for a very long time, even more importantly…

…it made her feel as if she could fly.

The End

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  Well, that's another one done, folks.  Special thanks to angstchic for the wonderful job beta-ing, and thanks to all those readers and reviewers out there who told me what they thought of the story as it progressed.  Hearing your words of support---especially those of Terri, Char, Andrea, Tammy, and Kallysten---have meant a tremendous amount to me, and I just want you to know that it's greatly appreciated.  Although BSV is officially complete now, I ended it this way for a reason---I'm planning on writing a couple one-chapter shorts detailing Buffy and Spike's trip back across the country, but those will be done when I either get inspired or find the time.  They'll be coming, though.  Of that, you can be sure. :)


	42. Epilogue Part 1: All of You

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.  And the chapter titles are courtesy of Miles Davis.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Spike and Buffy are finally on their way back to Sunnydale…

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  This is the first of a series of shorts detailing our duo's return to Sunnydale.  Nothing horribly plot-driven, mostly vignettes pulling out specific moments.  This one's on the fluffy, romantic side, on their first night on the road.  I hope you enjoy. :)

*************

"It's broken."

Casting a glance at her out of the corner of his eye, Spike witnessed the requisite pout accompanying Buffy's scowl as she shook the stationary fan in a futile attempt to get its blades rotating again.  "And usin' it as a maraca brings the little doohickey back to life, does it?" he teased with a quirk of his brow.  He watched as her lip jutted out farther.  Hell, if they hadn't only just got back on the road, he'd be on her in a flash, sucking that tender piece of flesh between his teeth like the tasty treat it was.  He shifted imperceptibly in his seat to accommodate his rising erection, and added, "Try flippin' the switch."

"Oh, please.  Like I didn't already try that."  

Minus the whisper of the tires on the road, the car was silent for a long moment, before Spike heard the unmistakable hollow click of a switch being thrown and then hastily returned to its first position.  He chuckled.  "Should've picked yourself up a spare when we filled up the tank," he said.  

"But it worked then," Buffy groused, and sighed as she rolled down the window even further, allowing the hot air rushing past to lift the sticky strands of her hair in a flurry.  Though the heat was still stifling, heavy winds rolled over the countryside, stirring the air in a semblance of natural cooling, and the Slayer leaned into the small comfort the breezes were offering.  "What I need right now are Fonzie powers."

"I'm almost afraid to ask."

"You know, he used to hit stuff to get it to start."  She brightened, twisting to look at him.  "Oh!  Maybe that could be like a secret Slayer power I don't know about yet.  Maybe all I have to do is hit it and it'll work again."

"Because everything else springs back to the livin' after it meets the Slayer's fist.  That makes _perfect_ sense, luv."

"Party pooper."  Dropping her head back onto the headrest, she stared at the worn roof for a moment before saying, "I think it's so hot in this car, my hair is now stuck to the seat.  I.  Am.  Glue girl."

"If you're goin' to whinge until the sun comes up, I'm goin' to strap you to the bonnet like a hood ornament," Spike warned good-naturedly.

"Ha.  Like you even could.  I'd have you pinned before you could even get out of the car."

"Seems to me, I've done my fair share of pinning _you_.  If it wasn't for your mum's little ax fetish, you'd've been a tasty little morsel for me that night at the high school.  Might find yourself surprised, Slayer."

"You _always_ surprise me, Spike."  She flashed him a brilliant smile, her skin gleaming from the slight film of sweat on her cheeks, and the small knot that had been forming in Spike's stomach eased.  Probably couldn't hurt to see about upgrading some of the car's features, he mused, though he imagined it would cost him an arm and a leg to do so.  And if he went to that prat down by Willy's, that's probably what he would charge.

Using his left hand to steer, Spike let go with his right to reach over and begin stroking Buffy's bare thigh, amazed at the heat that was radiating from her flesh.  Hot she might be, but there was something to be said about having his own little furnace sitting just a foot away.  And when she groaned at the cool contact, he let his fingers go higher, running along the inside seam of her shorts to skate closer to the only heat that he was really interested in at the moment.

"Oh," she moaned, and he was about to start seeking out the sweltering damp of her arousal that he could smell over the sweat when she bolted upright, coming away from the seat with a sticky snap.  

"Oh!" Buffy exclaimed, leaning out her window before snapping back to pick up the atlas and flashlight that rested on the seat beside her.  A piece of paper fluttered to the floor and she snatched it back while trying to balance the map on her knee.

"What is it?"

The beam from the flashlight illuminated the multi-colored page.  "We're right on schedule," she announced.  "According to the sign back there, we should've passed into DeSoto County a few miles ago."

"DeSoto Parish, you mean."

"Huh?"

"They don't do counties down here.  Not sure why, but Louisiana has parishes, not counties."

"Oh.  OK."  There was a beat and then her bright smiled returned.  "You know what being here means, though, don't you?"

"Yeah," Spike said, scowling at the scenery he could see through his windshield.  "It means we're still in fuckin' Louisiana."

"Pull over."

As she bent over and began rustling in the plastic sack of road trip supplies she'd bought at the gas station, Spike glanced at her as if she'd just told him to stake himself.  "Are you completely off your box?" he demanded.  "We've only been back on the road for an hour.  If memory serves, _you_ were the one who was spittin' nails about takin' too long to fill up, and _now_ you want to take _another_ pit stop?"

"We took so long because you cornered me in the ladies' room."

"No, we took so long because you bought half the bloody store when we were done," he countered.  "I had that shag perfectly timed to fit in with your little schedule, thank you very much."  Spike froze when she sat up, a small fluorescent box poised in her hands.  "What.  Is that?"

Buffy looked down at it in confusion.  "It's a camera."

"I can see that.  Why do you have one that looks like Disneyland tossed its cookies on it?"

"Well, the way I figured it, we're on vacation and we should have smiley happy proof of it.  And when I saw this in the display next to the licorice, I couldn't resist.  So pull over.  I want to take a picture."

"Of what?  It's almost midnight and we're in the armpit of the soddin' South.  The only pictures you're goin' to get are big black smudges of nothin'."

"Well, I want one of those big black smudges to be of you and the car."  She turned on her best I-wanna-cookie pout, eyes luminous in the dark.  "Is it so bad I want a picture of my guy?  And c'mon, you gotta admit, the DeSoto in DeSoto Cou---Parish?  It'll be cute."

"My car is not _cute_," Spike muttered, but felt his resolve fading.  Maybe it was the casual way she bandied around the words _my guy_, or maybe it was the irresistible force her lower lip exerted on his will, or maybe it was just because of the prospect of knowing he could give her something so simple and she'd bestow upon him that winning smile that made him feel ten feet tall.  Whatever it was, the possibilities of her request tumbled around inside his skull while his foot began to ease up on the gas pedal.

"Make you a deal," he said, measuring his words carefully.  "I'll pull over and let you be a little shutterbug, _if_ I get to have a picture of you on the car as well."

"Oh, sure, of cour---."

"Naked."

Her mouth stayed in the perfect small o as the word died in her throat.  A quick glance revealed her staring at him, and he had to stifle the grin that threatened to crease his features.  For all her big ways, there was still much for Buffy to experience, and he'd just sussed out that public nudity was one of them.

"'Course, if you're too _scared_ to show a little skin---."

Buffy snorted, finally breaking free of the surprise his condition had wound around her.  "Oh, please," she said with a wave of her hand.  "You're not going to get me that easy.  I'm not doing a skanky car model for you in the middle of the highway.  I just thought a few photos would be fun."

"Can still be fun, pet."  His hand returned to her thigh, this time studiously avoiding her damp cleft to begin tracing abstract letters along the tawny skin.  "Find a cozy little spot out of sight of the random lorry driver who happens to be out at this time of night, get you out of your kit, and then drape you across my black beauty here?  Sounds like my idea of heaven, it does."

His voice had dropped, slithering like rough silk as it joined his fingers' indulgence across her flesh, and Buffy gulped as her mouth suddenly went dry.  "It'll be hot," she argued feebly.  "From…the engine going…you know, vroom vroom…?"

"Still have the tent and sleeping bag in the boot," he murmured.  "No reason for an inch of that glorious skin of yours to touch anything it doesn't want to."  Spike shifted his weight so that the folds of his duster fell open.  "Though I'm sure I can find something it doesn't object to."

Long silence, and he was beginning to wonder if he'd lost her there.  "…nobody will see?" she finally asked softly, flaming the silence into cinders with the unspoken promise behind her words.

"Cross my unbeating heart," he vowed.

Finding a secluded spot proved easier than he expected, and Spike maneuvered the car so that its nose pointed away from the concrete, the headlights slicing into the countryside with unerring accuracy.  He had barely killed the engine when Buffy was out of her seat, slamming the door behind her as she stepped into the cooler air of the night.  Her arousal had grown over the last few minutes, saturating the vehicle's interior with a pungence that made Spike's mouth water, his body itch to claw through his seatbelt and take her right there in the front seat, driving be damned.

That's all right, he thought as he climbed out of the car.  Get my taste here and now.  She thinks I can keep my hands off her with her sprawled starkers only a few feet away, she's got another thing comin'.

Buffy hovered at the front of the car while he got the blanket from the trunk, tossing it over his shoulder while he strode to her side.  "Not havin' second thoughts?" he asked as he laid it out.

The swift flash of headlights whizzing by on the road made her jump as she responded.  "No, no second thoughts," she said.  A little quickly, he thought, but his eyes betrayed nothing as he turned back to see her shimmying out of her shorts.

She stood between the twin beams, and though the light didn't hit her directly, Spike didn't need it to see the muscled columns of her calves, or the rounded curve of her bottom when she hooked her thumbs into either side of her thong to slide it down her hips.  Don't know what I did to deserve this, he thought as he watched her through his lashes, his tongue running hungrily along the edge of his teeth as her back arched in a sinuous stretch with the removal of her tank.  But bugger if I'm goin' to muck it up now by makin' this about the wrong thing.

His original intention was to just fuck the picture-taking.  Spike's rationale was, that as soon as he was stretched out on top of her, ploughing into her depths and making her scream, Buffy'd forget all about the silly camera and they could spend a few pleasant hours under the stars doin' what he'd wanted to be doin' back in the Big Easy before she plopped her driving home schedule down in front of his face.

"I've already gone through the atlas," she'd said, and the excitement in her face had been that of a child, gleeful and innocent and so endearing that he'd let himself wallow in the simple joy she'd radiated as she chattered along.  The weight of the past couple weeks had been lifted from her shoulders, and glimpses of the happy young woman he'd first met over two years previous shone in the green depths of her eyes.  It had taken all his willpower not to fall on his knees in front of her and start spouting some of William's poncy poetry at her unsuspecting feet.  That would have sent her in hysterics, for sure.

She was far from hysterical now, her eyes wide and solemn as she stood in the moonlight, arms folded across her bare breasts as if that small modicum of modesty would prevent anyone from witnessing her nudity.  "How do you want me?" she asked, hints of trepidation making her voice quaver.

"Now _that's_ a loaded question, Summers," Spike teased with a sly grin, hoping it would ease her nerves.  When he was rewarded with a roll of her eyes, he nodded toward the blanket.  "Let's do something sexy.  Not that that should be hard 'cause it's you and all, but…"  He tilted his head in scrutiny when she sat along its metal length, legs in front of her, hands propping her weight up as she leaned back.  "Turn it around," he instructed.

"Like this?"  Bending her legs, Buffy swiveled on her seat as well as the blanket would allow her and looked back at him over her shoulder.

"No, like…"  Spike stepped forward, guiding her body to the position that had suddenly popped into his head, his fingers firm as she took the pose.  In spite of her natural beauty, there was an awkwardness to her muscles, a stiffness to her neck, that told him louder than any words she might say how uncomfortable she was in acquiescing to his wishes.  Well, maybe not so much his wishes, but more like the deliberate posturing he was asking her to take.  Cameras may adore his Slayer, but she sure as hell didn't adore them.

Her frown was evident when he finally stepped back.  "But you can't see anything," she said, confused.  "What's the point in me taking my clothes off if you can't see anything?"

"But I can, luv," he murmured.  "It's the promise of it all that's so sexy, you know."

And it was.  Now, Buffy was on her stomach, acutely angled along the hood so that from directly in front of the car, only the long line of her thigh was visible, her bare hip sloping upward to the arc of her ass that was obscured from full view by her upper body.  Her chin was propped up in her palms, forearms blocking her chest, but along the slant of her torso, the soft swell of her right breast could just barely be seen, all insinuation and velvety allure as it hid from the onlooker's eye.

The entire effect was intoxicating.

The seconds slipped away.  He wasn't even aware that he was staring until Buffy offered him a nervous smile.  "If I'd known the best way to shut you up was to take off all my clothes," she said, "I'd've done it years ago."

"Buffy…"  The camera fell forgotten from his hand as he returned to stand before her, his body humming from her proximity.  Spike's mouth was dry as he reached forward again, this time not touching her skin but instead sculpting the air around her.  The heat didn't normally bother him, but now it felt thick and sultry, cushioning the millimeters that separated his palm from the bow of her shoulder, too much and too far and oh how the strength of her beauty made him ache.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured.  "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"

"Obviously, I don't inspire you to be using that clicky finger of yours," she replied.  "Tick tock, Spike.  You do me, I do you.  That's the deal, right?"

"Is that what you want?"  His voice was husky, and his thighs pressed into the grille of the car as he leaned forward and let his fingertips tickle the side of her breast.  "I could just…do you.  Make you feel _good_…"  The sharp intake of her breath made her shoulders lift just enough for him to graze the now-exposed hardened nipple.  "Let me show you how beautiful you are, pet."

She sat up then, swinging her legs around so that she faced him.  "You don't have to do this," Buffy said quietly, and stilled the hand that hovered in front of her.

"No have to about it.  More along the line of want."

Using the resistance of her arm to brace her, Spike let his other hand drop to her stomach.  Each and every single time, it amazed him how wet she could get merely at the suggestion of his touch.  Enough to make the dryness of his mouth turn into a veritable oasis as the memory of her taste brought his body screaming to life.  

She was tensing, eyes glued to his as she waited for his next move.  Without missing a beat, Spike lowered his head, hair grazing her chin as his tongue darted out and lapped at the droplets of sweat that vibrated against her neck.  The first tang made him want to melt into her flesh, and the hand that had been held in hers curved around her back, tugging her closer until the natural instinct of her legs around his hips was inevitable.

"Spike…" Buffy whispered, breathless as she tugged at the waistband of his jeans.  "Please…want…all of you…"

Coiling her arms around his shoulders, Buffy lifted up and then slowly lowered herself onto him, letting him sink in, all the while never tearing her eyes from his face.  

"Love you…so much…" Spike said, and raised his mouth to hers.  Like honey her kisses were, an ambrosia for him to get drunk on for as long as she'd share them.  Slowly, he began pumping in and out of her, letting each stroke last for as long as he could, not allowing the duet of their tongues to falter though each thrust made it increasingly difficult.

She was everywhere at once, a blur of Buffy that left him dizzy and hungry and desperate for more.  When he felt the violent tremors begin to ripple around him, his kisses deepened, sucking her in just as she was to him, and Spike held her as she came with a muffled scream.  His own orgasm almost immediately followed.  Something about knowing he was the source of her pleasure was the only trigger he needed.

Her sweat dampened his shirt where she pressed herself against him, but when Buffy tried to pull away, Spike's grip tightened.  "Hang on," he said, and, hefting her weight against his pelvis, he stepped away from the DeSoto, taking the few steps to where he'd dropped the camera on the ground.

"What are you doing?"

"You wanted a photo," he replied.  Back to the car with the camera in hand, and only then did he disentangle from her enough to situate them on the edge of the hood, holding the small box out at arm's length to snap a quick picture that blinded both of the momentarily from the flash.  "Now that's the kind of shot of my Slayer that I want," he said when she looked back at him in surprise.  "In my arms, still all passion swollen and the like."

"And here I just wanted a cute picture I could stick on my nightstand and wake up to every morning," she teased.  "Not quite viewer-friendly for roommates or visitors, now is it?"

His thumb stroked the line of her jaw.  "So put it on _my_ nightstand.  Just means you have to wake up in _my_ bed if you want to see it, and that's not something I particularly have a problem with if you don't."

"Nope.  No problem here."  Another kiss, and she was pulling away, leaving him bereft and oddly aware of the air again now that she wasn't in his arms any more.  Almost immediately, Buffy grimaced.  "Ick.  I'm all hot again."

"Next gas station, we'll stop and pick you up another fan," Spike promised, zipping himself up.  "Think that schedule of yours is all buggered to hell at this point anyway."

Nothing more was said until they got in the car, and then, it was only Spike's grunt of approval when Buffy eschewed her seatbelt to nuzzle against his side.  Achingly content, he was smiling as he navigated the car one-handed back onto the highway, leaving his arm draped across her shoulders in order to keep her closer.  She was asleep in a matter of minutes, her small hand resting on his thigh, and he hummed under his breath as the DeSoto raced past the sign announcing their departure from the county.

With the Slayer asleep and Spike distracted by the feelings of repletion coursing through his veins, neither noticed the darkened car along the edge of the road when they zipped by it, nor the way it pulled out after them, marking time with the DeSoto as it stayed in the distance.


End file.
